


Supernaturals

by nameloc_ar_115



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Full Shift Werewolves, Knotting, M/M, Pack Bonding, Panic Attacks, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:24:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 94,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3842164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nameloc_ar_115/pseuds/nameloc_ar_115
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Supernatural creatures are the ruling class in modern society and have dominated the human species. Humans serve as the labor force, unpaid, abused, and without any legal rights. Most humans work within public industries to provide all manner of services and products for the Supernatural ruling class. However, other humans can be bought by private Supernaturals to satisfy more personal needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

                Tomorrow morning was the Auction. There was no way Stiles would be able to sleep. After work had ended that night, he and his father returned to their quarters and endured a tense and silent dinner.

                His father was worried, obviously, that his son would be picked. The lines around his mouth and the corners of his eyes seemed to deepen, showing the worn exterior of his skin from his age and the long hours in the sun.

                Stiles loved his father more than anything else; they were all they had left of their family after Stiles’ mother died. Right before bed, Stiles was pulled into a tight hug, his father saying nothing except for a murmured “kiddo.”

                After all, there was nothing to say. No comforting words or false promises would change anything. What happened tomorrow was completely out of their hands. The most Stiles could do was try to blend in and keep his head down. If he wasn’t claimed by the end of the ceremony, then he would remain with his father in his born Industry.

                As long as he wasn’t chosen.

                In the morning, he bathed and put on his best clothes: a soft gray sweater with charcoal pants. He combed his hair until it remained stubbornly tousled but presentable. His father shined his shoes with an old rag after breakfast. Anything to kill the couple of hours before the ceremony.

                At noon, the parents would take their eighteen-year-old sons and daughters to the town square. It was the only sanctioned day off humans ever received. Parents who only had children younger or older would go to work as if it were just a normal day.

                Beacon Hills wasn’t a large town to begin with, and the age requirement was specific for the Auction, so only about two hundred teenagers were present. They stood together on a platform that had been erected for the ceremony, some trembling, some weeping silently. All wearing muted shades and dull expressions. As a rule, it was not desirable to stand out during the Auction.

                Even kids who hated their parents’ Industries didn’t seek attention. By that point, they had been working within a specific field their entire lives, learning the ropes from fellow humans and their families. There was a level of certainty and comfort that came with that routine. Stiles couldn’t ever think of a person who had actually wanted to be picked.

                The Auction was a perversion of  a coming-of-age ceremony, where each human’s future was determined for the rest of his or her life. Only rarely—like single-digit occurrences—had Stiles heard of a human who had been transplanted into another Industry after their placement was assigned at the Auction. It hadn’t happened in decades.

                The mayor, a were-jaguar, announced from the head of the platform that the Viewing had officially begun. It would last for an hour and then the Selection would start. Parents stood to the left of the stage, kept out of the way since they were neither permitted to View nor Select. They were merely allowed to stand in silence and watch their children be examined and appraised like pieces in an art gallery.

                Representatives from the six Industries and private individuals were allowed to participate in the Viewing. They would swarm around and through the crowd of teenagers, assessing health, physical attributes, strength. The “shoppers” were well within their rights to grope and squeeze and pull at the humans, evaluating whether they had the potential to fulfill whatever needs were required.

                Stiles’ heart began to patter vigorously as soon as the mayor finished speaking. He swallowed and tried to keep his breathing steady. He wouldn’t be allowed to talk throughout the ceremony. Rather, a square piece of paper was stuck to the sleeve of his shirt. It had a figure of a house printed in the middle. The patch showed his origins and matched the tattoo on the inside of his father’s wrist, a symbol of his Industry.

                Apparently, appearance and a patch were all prospective buyers needed to know about a human to purchase one.

                A middle-aged woman with a pristine suit and bright red lipstick wandered over to Stiles, and he nearly had a panic attack. He would under no circumstances look anywhere near his father’s seat. He was barely holding it together as it was. He closed his eyes for a few precious moments and then opened them, his face perfectly blank once again.

                The woman was a representative from the Companion Industry, designated by the golden rectangular name tag that was pinned to her lapel. Stiles’ heart sank instantly. Aside from Waste Management, the Companion Industry was one of the worst—perhaps _the_ worst—Industry within which to work.

                A Companion was lucky to end up as a high-class escort. At the worst, he or she would be working a musty room in a brothel. To think, that the symbol for the Companion Industry was a _heart._ Stiles nearly snorted when he saw the tattoo on surrounding boys and girls. Even being from the Architecture Industry, he knew that humans never found love as Companions.  

                The representative gave Stiles a careful once-over, gripping his biceps and tilting his head this way and that.

                “Tilt your head back.” Stiles obeyed wordlessly, his breath stuttering as he elongated his neck, tipped his chin upwards.

                “Ah yes, very nice.” She murmured with a clinical appreciation and nudged Stiles’ shoulders so that he would turn in a circle. He flushed when he noticed her lifting the tail of his shirt to examine his ass. He prayed to some omnipotent force that his father didn’t see this. The man had a bad heart, and Stiles worried about him.

                “Lovely.” The woman smiled, white teeth bared between vividly red lips. She walked away and stopped in front of a brunette girl a couple rows ahead of Stiles.

                There was only ever one representative from each Industry present at the Auction, so the fact that the woman had spent a few minutes ogling and touching meant that Stiles was at least being considered for Companionship. The bulk of the supernatural creatures present were individuals interested in a personal slave, or an Assistant.

                God, Stiles hated all their pompous, euphemistic names. _Companion, Assistant._ He would rather be called a whore. At least it was honest.

                Not all Assistants were sex slaves. Some were the equivalent of a maid, doing the cooking, the cleaning, caring for their owner’s children. It really just depended upon the buyer. Once a human was purchased, an owner was legally permitted to use his or her human in _whatever_ way he or she saw fit.

                Stiles scanned through his mental catalog of supernatural beings. Being sold to a succubus, an incubus, or a wendigo were worst case scenarios. In those instances, there was little mystery for what the humans were used.

                The Food Industry representative practically sneered at Stiles and didn’t waste more than a second glancing at him. Stiles loved food more than most things, alright. It wasn’t his fault he never had enough of it, that he was scrawny. If he hadn’t been born into Architecture, no one would have believed that he was strong enough to help carry out the construction projects across the town.

                Similarly, the Consumer rep hardly looked at him. Perhaps, he knew that Stiles’ main focus in life wasn’t pleasing people. Sure, he acted with enough courtesy and respect to  avoid being ripped apart by his superiors, but he wasn’t about to act like the Supernaturals were a gift from the gods. Some humans sought to cement their place in society through flattery and ego inflation, but Stiles wasn’t one of them.

                Randomly, private shoppers poked and prodded at him before moving on to their next targets. With an Industry, Stiles at least had an idea what he would be getting into; with an individual buyer, it would be nearly impossible to predict what he would be doing.

                Towards the end of the Viewing, Stiles saw the representative from his own Industry, a were-hyena. The man exchanged a glancing smile, only noticeable since Stiles was looking directly at him. Stiles had met him a handful of times over the last ten years. Even if the teen wasn’t sturdy and rippling with muscle, he had performed his job without any transgressions on his record. His experience and birth in the Architecture Industry would give him some sort of advantage. He knew his representative would at least bid on him, try to retain a decent worker found within the Industry.

                In the end, it all came down to money.

                The mayor called out a warning, signaling the last five minutes left in the Viewing. A small sigh of relief left Stiles’ chest. He didn’t remind himself that this wasn’t even the worst part. The Selection would be unbearable. Listening as his fate was decided casually and his person was bartered over like a cow at the market.

                But, of course, the misery was never-ending. Stiles saw the figure enter his periphery a moment before the man stood in front of him.

                Although the teens were supposed to keep their eyes straight ahead, Stiles had been sneaking peeks at the other kids, the wandering potential owners. But he had not seen this man yet.

                He would have remembered.

                The guy was intimidating, although that wasn’t the first word that came to mind when Stiles saw him. There wasn’t much of a height difference, but the man was definitely muscled, with broad shoulders and a strong chest. Stiles could only imagine heartbreaking abs and powerful thighs since he was not nearly bold enough to let his eyes slide down past the man’s upper body.

                So yes, he was attractive, Stiles admitted begrudgingly. And younger than most of the other shoppers.

                But Stiles generally adopted a blanket attitude of distrust and hatred for all Supernaturals. And the fact that he was _here,_ at the human flea market, only made the teen feel more justified in his dislike.

                The stranger kept a comfortable distance from him, nearly brushing against the human in the row in front of them. _Strange_ being the operative word. Because the guy didn’t inspect, didn’t touch, didn’t mentally unclothe Stiles. He just stared. And only at Stiles’ face. Drifting over the light spattering of moles that decorated his neck and the sides of his face and finally stopping at his eyes.

                It gave Stiles an excuse to look back. Thick, black hair and irises that could be green or hazel, so unlike his own liquid scotch-colored eyes. And there was the beginnings of a beard.

                Stiles swallowed forcefully, and those sharp eyes flicked to his throat. He froze his movements to a painstaking point where it felt difficult to breathe.

                The man gazed at his face for another few seconds, searching for something maybe, before leaving without a word having been spoken. The Viewing officially ended a minute later.

                The buyers moved back to their seats, directly in front of the tiered platform, so that their view of the teens was unhindered.

                The bidding would progress by each individual human. Once chosen by  an Industry or private bidder, the teen would be ushered into one of the closed off tents to the side of the stage to receive the designated tattoo. And then he or she would disappear, another cog in the machine. If the owner was even remotely compassionate, the teen would be allowed a few private moments to say goodbye to loved ones if leaving his or her born Industry.

                Stiles was in the sixth row, so it would take some time before his turn arrived. If his nerves didn’t kill him first. He knew he didn’t have a shot in hell of being accepted into the Medical Industry. It was likely that no one here would either.

                The humans in Medicine were in the highest position of prestige, with the best accommodations and the most freedoms. As a result, few were admitted. And usually only if a Supernatural would provide some sort of glowing recommendation to vouch for their unique healing skills.

                There was still a good chance that he would be selected for Architecture, Companion, Waste Management, or as an Assistant. Too many available options.

                The first teen wasn’t picked and would return to her Consumer Industry. Usually, half would be chosen and half would remain in the same Industry. The available humans typically far outnumbered the prospective owners, so it wasn’t that much of a surprise.

                After the first few bids, Stiles reverted into his head. He was too tense to focus. Listening to these other kids get sold off like cattle would only depress him.

                His eyes flicked cautiously over the crowd. There were continuous movements, of bidders raising their signs with their assigned ID numbers on them. Stiles' heart jumped for some reason when he saw the dark, expressionless man sitting towards the front of the crowd.

                He couldn’t tear his eyes away. The man was a beautiful distraction if nothing else, and Stiles didn’t feel too bad having something nice to remember if he was going to be sold away from his only relative.

                It wasn’t long before the man’s head shifted subtly, and then those eyes were locking with his again. Stiles supposed he should look away, but he didn’t. After several long seconds, the man relented and turned his head back towards the mayor who announced the next teen’s name.

                Stiles kept staring. The guy never raised his sign, didn’t seem like he was planning to at all. Maybe he was unimpressed with this year’s lot.

                The first row had been called, and they had either gone to new owners or were returned to their families. The remaining rows shifted forward and replaced the lost teenagers. Stiles was now in the fifth line.

                Several kids had been chosen for each Industry, excluding Medical, as Stiles had guessed. One boy from Waste Management was sold as a Companion. He started sobbing loudly and had to practically be dragged from the stage by one of the handlers. That was never a good sign.

                The rows of kids dwindled like dominoes being knocked over. New Consumers would fulfill positions as cashiers and bag boys and retail workers. Waste Management members would be responsible for the town’s water pipes and gas lines and sewer systems and garbage removal.

                The blonde girl in the row before Stiles had been in Architecture. The representative from Food had won the bidding, and she was guided off the stage to receive her tattoo. A bread loaf, customary for her new Industry. Her name was Cindy. She would be a farmer or a chef or a harvester now.

                The teens in front of Stiles had filtered out, and he shifted forward to fill their spots with leaden limbs. Despite the mounting terror and nausea, Stiles had kept his eyes planted on the man. It provided him with a vague sort of focus. He still hadn’t even raised his sign once.

                The mayor called the boy three places to the left of Stiles. “Evans. Food Industry.”

                Stiles’ entire chest squeezed in apprehension. His hands started to sweat.

                “Matthews. Companion Industry.”

                They were going too fast, leaving the stage in blurs.

                Oh god, he was having a panic attack, wasn’t he? He needed to steel himself, couldn’t faint. It would shame his father, and he would subsequently die of mortification. It would also really hurt his chances of being picked by multiple Industries.

                “Diehl. Architecture Industry.”

                Fuck, he was next. Oh god oh god oh god oh god.

                When he heard his name, his senses sharpened to painful alertness.

                “Stilinski. Architecture Industry.”

                He begged silently for no one to raise their signs. Surely, no one wanted him. He was nothing special, they would just let him return home. God, he wanted to find his dad so badly. He felt like he was being smothered.

                “The bidding starts at fifty dollars.”

                Several signs shot up into the air. Too many. Stiles couldn’t focus on any of them except for one. His representative. He was raising his paddle, sitting off-center towards the back.

                There was still a chance he could go home.

                His eyes slipped over the other interested buyers with morbid curiosity. Dread pooled in his gut when he saw deadly red lips attached to one of the raised signs. Five private buyers. Two women and three men.

                One of which was the man. Stiles blinked and double-checked. The guy definitely had raised his sign. His heart started hammering in his chest.

                The bid increased to sixty, spurred on by one of the women. His rep had still raised his sign at the mayor’s call for sixty dollars.

                The price climbed to seventy moments later. A human was usually sold for a couple hundred at the most. One of the men had dropped out, leaving six shoppers.

                Another woman dropped out at eighty. The strange man, his rep, and the woman from the Companion Industry were all still bidding.

                Someone else called out one hundred. Not too sharp of a rise in cost but enough to shake off another one of the private buyers…and his representative. It couldn’t be.

                Please, no. _No._

                The hard fact punched him in the gut, left him breathless. In a matter of seconds, it had been determined that he was not going home, that he might never see his father again after today.

                Stiles had never wanted to cry so badly in his life. He had never felt a pain resound so deeply within the core of his body.

                “One hundred and thirty,” exclaimed another man. Afterwards, only three bidders remained.

                “One sixty,” the Companion representative called out from behind her ruby lips. It was only her and the strange man left.

                He couldn’t. He couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t help himself. Tears started collecting at the corners of his eyes, but he wasn’t allowed to raise his arms to wipe them away.

                The bid climbed to two hundred dollars.

                Stiles turned his eyes back to the man, could almost feel a tangible pull when they connected. He parted his lips and uttered a barely-whispered “please.”

                “Five hundred dollars.” The man’s voice wasn’t as deep as Stiles had expected, but it was rough and husky. Like it had been unused for some time.

                The price wasn’t unheard of, but it was far too high for a human without any known exceptional skills.

                The Companion rep looked annoyed, a pout tugging at her painted mouth.

                In a daze, Stiles felt himself nudged over to a tattoo tent. The woman inside was slightly older, maybe in her thirties. She must have been a lower-level Supernatural, considering the sleeves of tattoos that covered her arms. Humans had to remain unblemished except for their ownership tattoos.

                She did the tattoo in under five minutes. Well-practiced. In thick, slanting script on the inside of his wrist was the name of his new owner. Rather than receiving an Industry symbol, Assistants were always marked with the name of their buyers, like living, walking, talking sales receipts.

                _Hale._ Scrawled neatly into the meat of his skin. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Stiles had no idea what type of creature the man was.

                Feeling slightly numb, a handler guided Stiles back to a waiting area at the edge of the square, filled with other newly acquired teens. Some were cowering next to each other, folding far enough in on themselves in the hope of disappearing. Pale, grim, sullen countenances. Intermixed with smiling, tear-stained faces of children who were allowed to return to their homes with their families.

                Thinking of his dad again, Stiles’ heart ached. He wanted nothing more than to hug him, never let him go. But he couldn’t see him until he found his new owner. He would need his permission.

                And none of them would meet their owners until the rest of the ceremony ended. So, more waiting.

                Eventually, after his feet began to ache from the thin support of his shoes, Stiles heard the mayor’s announcement. Thanks and appreciation for all of the contributing parties. Hopes of seeing everyone again next year.

                They were corralled back to their owners and families. The teenagers began to scatter, finding to whom they belonged. The bustle and the noise were increasing, people were bumping shoulders, pushing past Stiles in a purposeful frenzy.

                Stiles couldn’t find the man, didn’t even see anyone he recognized. He knew his father would hang around, even if he had to wait until everyone else had left. He would wait if there was even a possibility of seeing Stiles.

                The tightness in his chest returned at full force. It was too much. How could they expect people to go through this? He turned around to search behind him, seeing nothing but blurs of color and faceless people.

                Suddenly, a warm hand landed on his shoulder, and he spun around in surprise. The man looked just as blank as before, although there seemed to be a new seriousness about his eyes and mouth. Stiles thought of the tender skin inside of his wrist, underneath the tape and cellophane, that was still pink and warm and swollen.

                Stiles did not want to start this relationship on a bad impression. In some sick, twisted way, the guy had saved him from a life of abuse and torment.

                “Master Hale.” Stiles gave a slight bow, averted his eyes to the floor.

                He heard an answering grunt but couldn’t see his owner’s expression. It didn’t exactly sound pleased. Stiles kept his eyes to the ground. He would have some making up to do with his blatant gazing during the ceremony. Not exactly proper conduct for a human.

                Stiles kept his voice soft, humble. “Master, could I see my father before we go? Please?” There was a gap of silence, and Stiles feared his new owner was going to turn him down. After all, he had no idea who this guy was, what he was like, what he _was._ He had no right to ask.

                “Yes.”

                Stiles’ head shot up automatically before he remembered to lower his eyes again. His heart was surging. Thank god he never had to do this again because this day was going to kill him.

                “Thank you, sir.”

                On this rare occasion, Stiles led his new master through the crowd, looking for his father. He saw the olive green of his dad’s dress shirt and pushed quickly through the people.

                A moment before they met, his dad saw him, eyes lighting up. Stiles launched into his arms, the suppressed tears of the whole morning and afternoon finally unleashed. His dad squeezed him back just as desperately before whispering, “Stiles, rules.”

                Stiles nodded into his dad’s shoulder and released him. His new master had followed him easily through the crowd and was standing a few paces away, an anchor in a sea of moving people. Stiles gave him a sheepish glance, hoping the affront was not too serious. It was too hard to tell; every owner was different.

                “Master Hale, my father.” His dad gave an appropriate bow in response.

                The man answered with a slight nod of his head. “Mr. Stilinski.” The honorific alone was jarring. Stiles looked at his father with wide eyes and saw mutual surprise. As a Supernatural, he didn’t have to treat any human—even a man decades older than himself—with any ounce of respect if he didn’t want to. The fact that he chose to was a little reassuring. His dad might be able to sleep better at night knowing that his son wasn’t living with a complete monster.   

                “I’ll give you a few minutes in private.”

                “Thank you, Master.” Stiles gave another little bow and watched Derek mingle with one of the other private bidders, looking slightly unwilling and pained as he did so.

                He turned back to his father, urgency present in his dad’s face. They didn’t have a lot of time. His dad palmed his shoulders comfortingly.

                “He doesn’t seem that bad, hmm? You’ll be fine, Stiles. You’re a good boy.” The older man spoke in hurried words, giving emphatic squeezes to Stiles’ shoulders every now and then.

                “I know, Dad. It’ll be fine. I’ll probably just work around his house, you know. Life of luxury.” He gave a forced laugh for his father’s benefit, wasn’t sure how convincing it was.

                “Stiles, if something bad happens. If he hurts you—” Anything spoken after that would just be an empty threat. Neither one of them could do a damn thing, and they both knew it.

                “Dad, I’m going to be okay. You’re the one I’ll be worrying about. Keep yourself healthy. For me, please?”

                His father’s mouth tightened, and he nodded, pulling Stiles back in for another hug. “I love you, kiddo.”

                “I love you, too, Dad.” His voice cracked at the end, and he clenched his jaw tightly. As they parted, Stiles glanced back, saw his dad smiling, strained.

                The crowd was thinning, as shoppers found their new purchases, as parents reunited with their children. It wasn’t hard to find the man, _Hale—_ he didn’t have to call him “Master” in his own head—who was still talking to the same guy as before. His owner’s pained expression had progressed to one of extreme discomfort, appearing as though his life force was literally being sucked out with every word.

                If Stiles didn’t have a sense of self-preservation, he might have sniggered. As it was, he crept back to Hale’s side, a little behind him, as was proper. His owner’s head turned slightly in his direction, and Stiles knew his presence was felt.

                Hale broke off his conversation almost abruptly and looked at Stiles. “Ready?”

                The other Supernatural was too obnoxious to take a hint, however. “Derek, is this your new human? It’s about time you got another one. After what happened to that Argent girl. Pity she was a human, sweet little thing. But I can see why you wanted this one.” Eyes were once again scanning up and down Stiles’ body in a way that made him want to wrap his arms around himself. 

                Hale, or rather _Derek,_ seemed to tense even farther, if that was possible. So far, Stiles had intuited that Derek was a reserved sort of person. Gossip and small talk didn’t seem to be priorities of his. But what did happen to “that Argent girl?”

                Hale’s voice was stony and terse. “Yes, thank you, Robert.”

                The man was pale with clear eyes and black spiky hair. At Hale’s words, he blanched to a frightening shade of off-white.

                Oh god, what kind of beast was this guy? That he could intimidate other Supernaturals? That something terrible had happened to the last human he bought?

                “Let’s go.” Derek turned his severe expression from Robert and walked away without another word.

                Wordlessly, Stiles followed him farther away from the stage, the people, towards the back of the square. Parked along the side of the town’s main street was a sleek, glossy black car. Sporty. He knew before Derek even approached it that it was his owner’s car. Stiles couldn’t really imagine him driving anything else.

                Internally, Stiles began panicking. Would it be better to sit in the back? No, he didn’t want to make him feel like a freaking chauffeur. What if he sat in the front and Derek was insulted at Stiles’ proximity? Should he just ask?

                Stiles’ heart was racing when they reached the car, and Derek _growled._ Like an animal. Possibly, literally.

                “What is it?” The words were bitten out through clenched teeth.

                “Where should I sit, Master Hale?”

                “In the front.” Derek slid into the driver’s seat with obscene grace while Stiles clambered into the passenger’s side, smacking his elbow off the frame of the car. He bit his lip to suppress the pained sound, knowing his own clumsiness only too well.

                “Could you be more careful?” Already, his owner sounded annoyed, displeased. Stiles felt equal parts indignant and ashamed. It was _his_ arm that was damaged, not Hale’s precious car. Still, it wasn’t a good idea to piss off his burly new owner before they’d even made it back to his house.

                “I’m sorry, Master. I didn’t mark the paint, I promise.”

                “I didn’t mean the—Never mind,” the man grumbled before shifting the car into drive and pulling out onto the street.

                Stiles looked out the window as Derek drove. It was safer, easier.

                For a long time, neither of them said anything.

                “We need to discuss some rules when we get home.” Derek’s outburst was sudden enough to make Stiles jump, but he didn’t turn his head away from the blurring sights outside the window.

                “Yes, Master.”

                Derek pulled into a parking garage close to the center of town. His apartment was on the top floor. A sort of industrially refurbished loft, judging by the unfinished floors and the bricks walls.

                Stiles was gaining an impression that his new owner embraced the concept of _bare essentials._ The living room contained nothing but a couch, a recliner, a coffee table, and two end tables. A large plush bed, possibly the only luxuriant thing in the apartment, was tucked into the far back right corner. A small nightstand planted next to it. The left corner was filled with  a spiral staircase.

                There were advantages to the loft, and Stiles wasn’t a snob. The place was far bigger than his previous living quarters, where humans were packed ten to a room. Wide, open spaces and an abundance of natural light. Most of the back wall was made entirely of windows, from ceiling to floor, as well as skylights in the ceiling. One last table, plain and supporting a reading lamp, sat in front of that wall.

                It was only after a several moments of blatant staring that Stiles realized he had been gawking. He instantly lowered his eyes when he saw his owner’s heavy eyebrow quirk upward in question.

                “Rules: call me Derek. No bowing, and you don’t have to worry about walking ahead of me or catching my eyes. Not when you’re at home.” Something tugged at Stiles’ stomach when Derek mentioned “home.” He made it seem like it was something Stiles was allowed to share with him, something he was allowed to own. “Understood?”

                “Yes, Mas—Derek.” Stiles lifted his head with trepidation, pulled his shoulders back until they were at a natural position. It was incredibly liberating to disobey proper human conduct, especially when he was given a blessing to do so without consequences.

                “But in public, I’ll need you to behave formally. Less attention on either of us, the better.”

                “Okay.”

                Derek giving him the tour of the loft included pointing to two doors on the opposite side walls. He directed left and grunted “kitchen,” then gestured right for the bathroom.

                “Is that my bed, sir?” Stiles winced at the title. It was going to take some time for him to adjust to using his owner’s name. His first name at that, like they were friends.

                Derek followed the path of his eyes and tensed considerably. “No, that’s mine. You’re upstairs.”

                Stiles followed him up the spiral staircase, wondering if the top room was a study or something, where he would have to live in one of the closets. Derek pushed open the door and gestured for Stiles to enter first.

                The carpeting was deep gray and thick, a plump cushion underneath his aching feet. It nearly matched the charcoal of his dress pants. There was a double bed, smaller than Derek’s, but comfortable, with a dark blue comforter. It was different from the downstairs; it felt cozier. The nightstand was dark, glossy wood, wedged between the bed and the wall. A small crystal lamp sat on top of it.

                “This is your room, the first door’s your closet, the second is the bathroom.”

                “ _Mine_?” Stiles couldn’t stop his heart from spiking with shock, with pleasure. An entire room for himself? He couldn’t help but think of his father sleeping on a threadbare cot. It dampened his joy, made his stomach feel heavy with guilt.

                “Is it okay?” Derek must have sensed something was wrong from Stiles’ speechlessness.

                “Wrong?— _Sir,_ Derek, I mean—it’s amazing. No, I was just...” His sentence dropped off when his eyes fell onto the empty bookshelf in the corner.

                “Can you read?”

                “Yes. How did you know?” It wasn’t uncommon for humans to be illiterate. After all, they were prohibited from occupying educational, political, and military positions. But his dad had been adamant about teaching him to read, and their section foreman had loaned him books from his own collection for the last dozen years. Including a dictionary that had greatly increased Stiles’ vocabulary and understanding.

                “Didn’t. Just had a feeling. It was mine. Too bulky to move back downstairs.” The man shrugged lazily.

                “I don’t have any books.”

                “Tomorrow. You’ll need clothes and things. So if you want to get some then…”

                Stiles could hardly contain his excitement and bit his lip to suppress the smile that was bubbling out of him. He might have responded too hurriedly. “ _Yes!_ I-I mean, please, Master. Thank you.”

                “Derek.”

                “Yeah, sorry.” Stiles withered slightly.

                “Don’t apologize. It’s fine. I’m going to make lunch. You hungry?”

                Derek was offering to cook for him. The terror and unknowing was still overwhelming, and something had happened to his last human, but this guy didn’t seem awful. He was being treated a lot better than he had expected.

                And he _was_ starving. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and the clock in Derek’s car read after three. But the instinct to remain small, quiet, obedient was overwhelming.

                “No, I’m fine. Thank you.” Which was stupid because he had no idea when he would be eating next.

                Stiles heard that sound again, that growl, rumbling deep inside Derek’s albeit glorious chest.

                “Don’t lie to me. I’ll know if you do, and I’d rather have the truth anyway.”

                “Then. Yes. I’m hungry.”

                Derek gave a curt nod and on his way out, muttered, “I need you to shower before you come down.”

                Stiles mouth was flapping like a fish’s until he snapped his jaw closed. “Okay. Um.”

                “Everything you need’s in the bathroom. Clothes in the closet.” He left and closed the door behind him.

                He didn’t smell, did he? He sniffed under his arms and didn’t notice anything. A shower was tempting though. All the hot water he wanted, without having to worry about the line of people waiting after him. Like his bedroom— _his_ bedroom, honestly it was too weird—the bathroom was soft and homey. Thick blue rugs that matched his comforter and fluffy towels in the cabinet.

                Under the sink, there was an array of hygiene products for each sex. Derek must have been unsure of what he was looking for before he went to the Auction. He read the labels on the bottles, familiar of the subtle differences between shampoo, body wash, and conditioner. Even though everything used in his quarters had been generically called soap.

                The water was heavenly, remained hot for longer than three minutes. Stiles scrubbed himself leisurely until his whole body was running with streams of bubbles. He brushed his teeth thoroughly, thinking that maybe Derek was a germ-freak and would check under his nails for dirt or something. That had to be the explanation because Stiles had always done his best to keep himself clean.  

                The clothes in the closet—simply a shirt and a pair of sweatpants—were obviously Derek’s. They were at least two sizes larger than Stiles’ own clothes, soft and worn, like they had been used many times over the years.

                The moment he reached the first floor he could smell the food. His stomach was growling like Derek, and his mouth filled with saliva. The door into the kitchen had been left open, an invitation.

                It turned out that Derek was actually a really good cook. There were cooked vegetables and mashed potatoes that were so fluffy they looked like clouds. And _real_ chicken. Not the little gray cubes of meat that he had been served as a worker.

                Derek set the filled plate down, and Stiles had already scooped a spoonful of food into his mouth before he wondered if he should have waited for Derek. The man didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he took no notice of Stiles and stocked his own plate. Stiles took it as a sign to start eating as much as he could and as fast as humanly possible.

                He couldn’t make himself slow down, always living with a nagging hunger, never having enough food to feel properly full or satisfied. Stiles was determined to feel sated tonight.

                He might have been making small pleased noises— _absolutely not_ moans—while they ate. Derek wasn’t speaking at all, and Stiles was too busy shoving food down his throat to try and make conversation. But they were quiet sounds, under the breath, that the older man shouldn’t have been able to hear. Apparently, he did anyways.

                Derek’s fork was held in midair, and he was watching Stiles with an expression of mingled disgust and fascination. Like wondering where all that food was going to end up inside of Stiles’ slender body.

                Stiles carefully gnawed on a piece of chicken that was in his mouth, feeling the warm blush cover his cheeks.

                “Sorry.”

                “It’s fine.” Derek said “fine” like it wasn’t actually fine and he just couldn’t figure out exactly what it _was_.

                In no time, Stiles had cleaned his first plate, scraping at it with his fork until Derek’s glare reached him. He started jiggling his foot, never one to handle silence or sitting still well.

                Derek looked up at him, sighing tiredly. “You can get more. Have as much as you want.”

                After a second helping, Stiles entered his first blissful food coma, feeling full and content.

                “That was really good.”

                “Yeah, I noticed,” Derek retorted with a bone-dry sarcasm.  

                “Do you want me to clean up?”

                “No. I can do it.”

                Stiles was wordless for a few seconds, completely stunned. “But you cooked for me.”

                “Damnit, what did I just—” Derek reined in his snappish remark when he saw Stiles flinch. He finished more gently. “I’m sure you’re tired. Big day.”

                Stiles nodded, eyes wandering over his hands as he picked at his fingernails in his lap. “Can I ask you a question?”

                “You just did.” Stiles’ face seemed to blanch, the tension becoming palpable in the air. Reluctantly, Derek nodded and moved his hand in a vague gesture to urge Stiles to continue.

                “Are you a werewolf?” Transitions, or subtlety in general, had never been one of Stiles’ strengths.

                His owner’s eyes had widened, a sliver of white bordering those indiscernible irises. It was the most emotion he had seen yet from the man.

                “Why would you say that?” It was faintly accusatory, like Stiles had been poking around into Derek’s private business. Surely, if he knew Stiles could read, then he would know that Stiles wasn’t stupid. He could make connections, accumulate details and catalog them in his mind. He liked to think it was a trait he shared with his father, who was observant by nature and easily recognized patterns.

                “Is it true?” He started to wring his hands together anxiously. Derek’s nostrils were flaring, and from the whiteness of his knuckles, it looked like he was gripping his spoon tightly.

                “ _Yes._ ” The answer was grit out in the air between them.

                Curiosity was bubbling inside of him, and his tendency to over-talk and ignore most forms of tact was resurfacing.

                “Are you an Alpha?”

                “ _No._ ”

                “What about a pack? You must have one—”

                “Stop!” Derek’s hand smacked the table top so hard that the plates lifted and then clattered back down onto the wood, sending silverware skittering. Stiles had reflexively leapt back from the table, knocking his chair onto the floor with a loud _clack_.

                As if that wasn’t enough to give Stiles a heart attack—hearing Derek’s voice _seething_ with so much rage—the hand that was flat against the table wasn’t a normal hand anymore.

                Deadly, thick, clear claws had grown out of the tips of Derek’s fingers. Matching fangs were slipping from his gums, glistening in the overhead light of the kitchen.

                “ _Upstairs_.” The wolf spit out the words with a small fury behind them, and Stiles practically ran up to his room. Thankfully, he was not that concerned with his dignity. Being sold at the Auction like this year’s new car tended to eliminate worries of vanity.

                He slammed the door behind him, heart beating erratically, feeling desperate to put something tangible between himself and Derek. Who knew the extent of his owner’s control over his animalistic side? Would he tear Stiles apart the next time he got angry? Maybe that’s what had happened to his last human.

                Stiles slid down the door when his knees locked up from the trembling. He started sobbing, hoping Derek wouldn’t be able to hear him through a mouthful of t-shirt. Even if he didn’t hear, Stiles had a feeling he would be able to smell the tears on the fabric.

                He cried uselessly about leaving his father and never seeing him again, about the unfairness of life, and the bone-deep fear he felt when he saw Derek’s claws and his face contorted into a snarl.

                All of the crying drained him until his lack of sleep from last night caught up with him. Stiles didn’t remember drifting off to sleep, leaning against the door of his bedroom.

                The vibrations of the knock against the wood traveled straight into Stiles’ head where it had lolled. He woke up jarringly, like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on him. He debated on hiding in the bathroom and locking Derek out. It would probably only incense the werewolf to the point of actually murdering him. Besides, if he was controlled enough to knock like a civilized…creature…then Stiles reasoned he was probably safe at the moment.

                Stiles twisted the knob and backed away automatically when he felt it open.

                Derek looked solemn but composed. When he saw Stiles’ face, his shoulders dropped slightly. “You’ve been crying.”

                “No, um. I was just—”

                “No lying.” The growl was quiet, making a shudder zip down the teen’s spine. The reprimand was merely a reminder. Derek wasn’t pressing for Stiles to share any of his feelings, or offer any comfort.

                “Um. Do you want something from me? I-I didn’t mean—I only meant, do you need me to do something for you?”

                “I need to check on your wrist. It’ll need cleaned.” Derek took a step forward, and Stiles took one back to compensate. He saw Derek’s expression darken perceptibly. Fear was oozing out of Stiles’ pores like sweat. He had only been here for a few hours. Could Derek really hate him so much already? Why had he bought him in the first place anyways? He didn’t exactly seem the type who wanted to be bothered by _anyone,_ let alone a human pet.

                The wolf stopped and squeezed his eyes closed, balled his fists against the sides of his thighs. He exhaled and let some of the tension drop from his stance.

                “Can I see your tattoo? I just want to make sure it’s not infected. If that’s okay.” The words were tight but held no threat.

                Stiles nodded and kept himself perfectly still as Derek moved closer. Surprisingly, he brushed past the boy and entered the bathroom, expecting Stiles to follow him.

                Derek closed the lid on the toilet, and Stiles sat down wordlessly. From under the sink, Derek pulled out a wash cloth, filled the sink with warm water, and let it soak.

                He kneeled in front of Stiles, which was a strangely heady experience. That thick, jet-black hair not more than a foot away from him. Stiles could have reached out, sunk his fingers through the smooth tresses if he had wanted to.

                Derek offered his hand, palm up, unthreatening, like how one would try to approach an animal. Stiles placed his forearm in the smooth palm, felt the elevated heat from Derek’s skin. He knew werewolves were hotter than humans due to advanced metabolisms.

                With deft and careful fingers, the older man unwrapped the tape and the cellophane, teased the bandage away from the dried blood and healing skin.

                He dabbed the peripheral skin clean, made feather-light swipes over the inked skin itself. All the while, Stiles’ stupid heart was thumping for the millionth time today. Perhaps it was having Derek so close after realizing how dangerous he could be. Perhaps it was just shock from the entirety of today’s events themselves.

                “Any pain? Does it feel overly warm, irritated?”

                “No.”

                “Good. It smells healthy, like it’s healing properly.”

                “At least you have a short name. I don’t think I could have stood another letter.” Stiles probably imagined it, his mind delirious from trauma and lack of sleep, but he thought he saw the corners of Derek’s lips quirk into a smile. Smoothed into perfect blankness the next second. “Like a billion tiny needles slicing me open.” Stiles’ arm had been released and he covered his wrist with equal parts protectiveness and embarrassment. He didn’t want Derek gawking at his own name, his mark, on Stiles’ skin. It was too much.

                “I remember the pain, too. A little different for wolves though.”

                “You have one, too?” Stiles’ question was innocent enough.

                “Yes.” There was a beat of silence before Derek asked, “How did you know?”

                “About you?”

                A curt nod.         

                “Just a lot of little things. Hearing things you shouldn’t be able to hear, the growling, knowing when I lied, how you could smell me.”

                “You smelt like other people. Too many, and I didn’t know any of them. My wolf didn’t like it.”

                Stiles’ head cocked to the side, feeling facts slot into place in a very gratifying manner. “Is that why I showered? Why all of the soaps are non-scented? Your clothes?” Derek looked down at the mentioned clothes, how they pooled around Stiles in certain areas and were spread tightly in others.

                “Scenting, it’s called. It’s very important to werewolves.”

                Derek seemed to want to say something but was struggling, crossing his arms over his chest. And Stiles kept quiet, waited patiently.

                “Before in the bedroom. I wasn’t trying to scare you. But you moved away from me, like you were going to run…”

                “And?” Stiles couldn’t help but notice his voice was hardly above a whisper.

                 “And it made me want to chase you.” The boy’s eyebrows rose.  

                By way of an explanation, Derek murmured, “It’s highly instinctual. My wolf recognizes you as _his._ So, don’t run. Ever. I’m not sure if I’d be able to stop myself.” From doing what, Stiles didn’t even want to know.

                “I won’t then.” Derek turned to drain the sink, hung the washcloth over the ledge of the tub.

                “Derek?” Stiles’ voice was small and tentative. He didn’t want a repeat of what happened at the kitchen table.

                “Yeah?”

                “What about on the full moons? I’ve heard that a werewolf’s instincts are virtually uninhibited during those nights.”

                “I’ll figure something out. Full moons aren’t that bad for me. I hardly even shift anymore during them. You’ll be fine.”

                Stiles hardly felt reassured, and Derek must have noticed. “We have a few weeks still. We’ll talk about it when it gets closer.”

                The wolf turned to leave and then swiveled around again. “I know your last name’s Stilinski, but what should I call you?”

                “Stiles.”

                “Stiles?” Derek rolled the name around on his tongue before nodding. “Stiles.”


	2. Chapter 2

               The next morning Stiles woke to a knock on his door. He had slept deeply, without dreams or the gnawing hunger in his belly. Derek had glanced at him with his typical sour expression before setting a neatly folded pile of clothes at the end of the bed. Another loan until Stiles got his own.   

                Stiles had never been in a store before. And it clearly showed. After breaching the automatic sliding doors, he sidled closer to Derek, preferring to stick near an enemy he at least knew.

                Crowds of Supernaturals, more than he had ever been around at one time. He felt instantly vulnerable. Derek stopped to let a person cross in front of him, and Stiles was too busy looking everywhere but ahead of him to notice. He smacked into the hard muscle of Derek’s side, clasping onto him for balance.

                Maybe it was the blatant anxiety present on Stiles’ face, but Derek didn’t yell or glare or even growl. He waited for Stiles to right himself and then started walking at a leisurely pace.

                “Pick out anything you like.”

                “Yes, Master Hale.” Derek seemed ready to chastise him before remembering that they weren’t alone in the loft anymore. That his human was behaving precisely as instructed.

                 Stiles surveyed the closest shelf, noticing bright, glossy bags and cans and boxes. He didn’t recognize any of it. It only took a matter of seconds for him to become too apprehensive to select anything. He wasn’t even sure what he liked, if what he liked was too expensive.

                After about ten minutes of complete indecision, Derek stopped him with a tap on the arm. “Stiles. It’s just food. Pick something.”

                At first, it was a bag of chips. Then a chocolate bar. A pack of pudding cups. He wasn’t entirely sure what pudding was, but he decided that he wanted to learn. Every minute or so, his eyes would slide sideways to catch Derek’s expression, to gauge whether he was taking too much or something he shouldn’t. In the end, Derek would be the one paying for all of it.

                The first few times Stiles cast him a sheepish look, the wolf murmured his customary “It’s fine.” After the dozenth time, he imposed his glare upon Stiles. The teen learned his lesson and set the items he wanted in the cart with only minor hesitation. As they moved up and down the aisles, Derek picked out things he needed. Mostly healthy things, like vegetables, fruits, fresh meats. Things to actually make meals. Meanwhile, Stiles had largely selected what Derek referred to as “junk.”

                Shopping for clothes was easier than food. Stiles had no penchant for fashion and possessed a very simple sense of style. He knew he liked the clothes Derek had given him, soft shirts and pants. He grabbed a few pairs of jeans and then some socks and underwear. The latter might have made him blush when he dropped them into the cart, but he would never admit it.

                In particular, Stiles had seen a plush purple hoodie. His eyes kept flicking over to it, and when Derek had turned his back to dig through the cart for something, Stiles skirted over to its rack. He ran his fingers along the sleeves until one hand grazed the price tag.

                Even Stiles, who wasn’t allowed to handle money—no humans aside from Consumers were—knew that forty dollars was a lot of money. Too much for one article of clothing at any rate.

                He couldn’t deny the absurd little ache in his chest before shaking his head. Derek had already spent plenty of money on things he didn’t need to buy for Stiles. Stiles would have more than most humans ever owned in their entire lives. Guilt and greed choked him momentarily, a sickening rush swirling around his stomach.

                Next was the shoes. Stiles eventually found two pairs of tennis shoes that he liked, and when he placed them in the cart, he saw the folded mass of his purple hoodie sitting on top of the other items.

                His gaze flicked up to Derek’s, his lips parted as if to argue. But Derek’s face was speaking volumes, declaring “don’t even start.”

                Derek led him to the checkout, where drawn faces scanned price tags and bagged products and collected money. All of them with coins stamped onto the insides of their wrists.

                The cashier read the total, and Stiles felt an unpleasant lurch in the pit of his stomach. Derek had spent over two hundred dollars, the majority of it on Stiles.

                “Sir, that’s too much. I can put things back, really.”

                “Stiles, relax. It’s not a big deal.”

                They loaded bag upon bag into the back seat. The sheer number was enough to make Stiles woozy.

                “One more stop and then we’re home.”

                “Thank you, Derek.”

                Derek eyed him sideways before flicking his glance back onto the road. “You’re mine,” a shiver rippled across Stiles’ skin, “to take care of. It’s my responsibility to make sure you have what you need.”

                “Most owners wouldn’t bother. So. Thank you.”

                “It’s nothing.” Derek seemed flustered by the sincerity and cleared his throat.

                Five minutes later, he pulled over to the side of the street. Both sides were lined with small shops, Stiles’ eyes scanning them to try and figure out where they were going. And then he saw it.  

                “ _Derek_.” His voice rose an octave in excitement, and he forgot himself, clutching onto the wolf’s arm. Luckily, they were still in the car, where no one else could see such a breach of conduct. “Sorry, sorry.” He released Derek quickly and practically flattened himself against the passenger-side window to stare at the bookstore.

                “I take it you still want to go then?” There was a sarcastic edge to Derek’s voice, but it wasn’t unfriendly.

                Stiles had never seen this many books. Thousands and thousands, arranged by genre, divided into sections throughout the store.

                Unsure of where to begin, Stiles asked Derek for recommendations. After reading the back cover of several of Derek’s selections and wrinkling his nose at them, Derek decided to let Stiles explore on his own. The wolf seemed perfectly willing to let Stiles buy whatever he wanted without interference.

                His owner didn’t seem to take an interest in any of the sections until they reached the historical works. Mostly Supernatural histories, of course, but there was always a small human section. Derek was scanning through it, focusing on the texts related to ancient Greece.

                Stiles already had a growing stack of books leaning precipitously against his chest. He skimmed the spines in front of him and stopped when he saw “werewolf” on one of them. _An Ancient and Modern History of Werewolves._

                The book would certainly be a better alternative to finding information about his new owner’s nature than asking Derek himself. The older man would be far less annoyed, and therefore, far less likely to rip Stiles apart because of endless questions. A written text might also be a little more forthcoming about the not-so-glorious details as well. Having made up his mind, Stiles tucked the book in the middle of his stack, knowing Derek wouldn’t think to look.

                Speaking of the gloomy werewolf, Stiles didn’t see him in the aisle anymore. Probably went around the corner. The teen had resumed browsing through the rest of the shelf when a force smacked into his side.

                His books scattered across the carpeting of the shop, and he stumbled back into the shelf.

                The woman who had knocked into him was sneering. “What are you even doing in here? You know none of the books in this section have pictures in them, right?”

                Stiles buried the flare of anger, biting harshly into his tongue. “Excuse me, ma’am. I didn’t see you.”

                “Not surprised. You don’t look too sharp. Maybe you should go look in the kids’ section instead.” Stiles had stooped down to recollect his fallen books. The last one had conveniently situated itself under the heel of the Supernatural’s boot.

                “Sure. You could show me. I have you pegged as a fan of the pop-ups.” The minute it left his mouth, he knew it was a mistake. Still, there was no turning back now. He gave a harsh tug and placed the book back within the protective cradle of his arms. If he was going to die now, he wanted the books to at least have a fighting chance. They were innocents in all of this.

                “ _What_ did you say to me?” The outrage was naked in her voice.

                Before Stiles could concoct some half-baked excuse about mental instability or Tourette’s, a warm hand settled on his shoulder. Derek shifted his stance until Stiles was at his side, tucked behind the werewolf.

                “Problem?” If Stiles thought Derek was hostile on a normal basis, it didn’t even compare to now. His voice sounded _deadly._

                “Is _this_ yours?”

                “He is.” Inexplicably, a warmth filled Stiles’ belly. It was strangely comforting to know that Derek didn’t sound ashamed, wasn’t hesitant to claim Stiles as his even though the human had undoubtedly embarrassed him in public.

                For now, Derek was his savior. That was going to change when they got home.

                The woman made a threatening step forward, and Stiles noticed the two-inch-long talons noiselessly slipping out of her fingertips. He recalled how Derek had shifted yesterday, the vicious snarl that had escaped between his fangs and the claws that had gouged the kitchen table.

                Stiles saw Derek move minimally, placing himself directly in front of Stiles where she had no chance of reaching him.

                “Someone ought to discipline your little _whore,_ show him his place.” She bared her teeth, revealing three rows of pointy little canines. All Stiles could think of was a shark.

                Derek growled so loudly in response that Stiles was sure the entire bookshop had heard. Maybe he had intended them to. The woman was backing away now, well aware that she had out-stepped her bounds. A Supernatural could be penalized for interfering in the affairs of another creature’s human. Especially if it came to physically threatening another’s Assistant. Derek could have torn her pieces, and his actions would have been completely justified.

                A small crowd of shoppers had paused to watch the scene but seemed to be dispersing rapidly. Stiles had an idea why.

                When Derek turned around to face Stiles, his eyes were _glowing_ a brilliant blue, fangs and claws fully extended. He looked utterly terrifying, making the teen’s heart squeeze in fear.

                “Let’s go.” The words slurred around his teeth, but by the time they had reached the register, he looked like a normal man. Again, terrifying. Stiles was honestly surprised that Derek had still bought all of his books after the human had just undermined his authority in front of an entire shop of other Supernaturals.

                He was absolutely silent during the ride home, afraid to upset Derek any farther than he already had. He knew he would have to be punished when they got back to the loft; it was protocol. Stiles rarely considered the prospect of pain frightening. Typically, he considered it nothing but an inevitable byproduct of life and his station. But right now he was petrified.

                In the car, the boy’s hands had started to shake, so he clasped them together tightly. By the time they had unloaded all of the bags and groceries onto the kitchen table, Stiles’ entire body was trembling.

                Derek hadn’t said anything yet, hadn’t done anything but quietly stock the fridge with the new food. And the waiting was killing Stiles. It was only a matter of time before Derek exploded. Turning back from the cupboard, Stiles spun around and bumped right into the wolf’s sturdy chest.

                On instinct, he dropped straight to his knees, the pain from the impact ringing upwards to his hips. His palms laid supine against his thighs, his head bent. The ultimate expression of supplication a human could offer to his or her master.  

                “Please, Master. I’m sorry, so sorry. I’ll take any punishment you deem fit.” No matter how hard he tried to hold it back, tears were blurring his eyes. It was only his second day here, and at this rate, Derek would sell him to the Companion Industry before the end of the week.

                “Stiles, get up.” Derek pulled him up by his forearm until he was standing again. “Look at me.”

                Tentatively, Stiles lifted his eyes until he caught Derek’s gaze. His face looked surprisingly calm, and he spoke evenly. “I’m not going to do anything, Stiles. You’re not in trouble.”

                Stiles swallowed, his throat still tight with tears that he wiped away hurriedly. He wasn’t trying to earn pity from Derek. “I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful for today. I didn’t plan to confront her. She just, she made me so angry.”

                Derek crossed his ridiculously perfect arms over his chest in that way that he liked to. “I don’t need to tell you that it was a stupid move. But she was an asshole. She shouldn’t have said those things about you.”

                “Still, I understand if you don’t want to take me anywhere again.” No beating? Stiles thought he got out of this one pretty easily.

                “Stiles, I will never punish you. No matter what you do.” Stiles didn’t need to be a werewolf to know that Derek was telling the truth. There was feeling behind those pale hazel eyes that assured Stiles that he meant it.

                “I’ll finish putting the groceries away,” Derek said with a finality that suggested that Stiles leave.

                He climbed up to his room and carefully began unpacking his new things. Derek had left a bushel for him to put his clothes into, warning him the chemicals on the unwashed fabric could irritate his skin. Stiles wasn’t sure about that, but he knew Derek wouldn’t like the chemical scent.

                The six books barely took up half of a shelf. Stiles intended to fill them all.

                He sprawled across his bed, unused to the long hours of free time he had ahead of him. He didn’t have to work half the day anymore, finishing well after dark most nights. It left him feeling slightly unnerved, like he would be yelled at for not doing _something_.

                He kept two books on the bed with him. One was the werewolf histories. Stiles didn’t want Derek to know he bought it; he wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe Derek would interpret Stiles reading about werewolves as a violation of some sort of privacy. The teenager vowed to himself to hide it under his pillow.

                For the next few hours, Stiles picked through the book. He hardly skimmed over the sections about ancient history. Most of it was origins and mythology. Stiles was far more interested in the modern werewolf.

                A lot of the basic information he already knew just from living amongst them. Heightened senses of sight, smell, hearing. Incredibly quick healing, immunity to virtually all diseases. Possessive, lived in packs, unparalleled loyalty to pack members.

                There was also a lot that Stiles didn’t know. Like werewolves being able to voluntarily relieve pain from another organism by absorbing it into themselves. Also, there was the neat little fact that Derek would be able to smell some of his emotions because of the faint chemosignals his body gave off during times of stress. Stressors that included fear, panic, confusion, anger, _arousal._ His devastatingly attractive Supernatural owner would be able to smell when Stiles was turned on. That was just marvelous.

                But that didn’t even compare to the passage on mating behaviors involving werewolves. The description was so explicit that Stiles blushed while reading it. Suffice it to say, Stiles underlined the entire paragraph with a pen that he had found in his nightstand.

                He spent most of the day happily reading until Derek called him down for dinner.

                The werewolf looked perturbed, eyes and mouth drawn tight. Derek never exactly looked _happy_ , but Stiles knew something was bothering him. Hopefully, it was not something regarding Stiles himself. He had dodged one bullet today already.

                “People are coming over tomorrow night.” Derek almost sounded pained at the prospect of interaction.

                “Oh. Do you want me to stay in my room? Because I can—”

                “No. The people are coming to see you.”

                Stiles let his eyebrows furrow. “What people?”

                “My pack.” The human perked up instantly. He was strangely pleased that Derek had a pack. He always heard about Omegas enduring unhappy endings.

                “You’re a beta.”

                Derek nodded in concession.

                “Is your Alpha coming?”

                “I don’t have an Alpha.”

                “I don’t understand.” The older man sighed and set his fork down against the side of his plate.

                “My pack isn’t conventional. We’re pack by our choosing, not by the bite or by lineage. Strictly speaking, none of the members are any wolves that I’ve turned.”

                “That would make the pack connection even stronger though, wouldn’t it? Because everyone chose to be a part of it rather than being obligated.”

                “It would.” A surprised expression occupied Derek’s face, almost like he was impressed with Stiles. The boy might have preened, just a tiny bit, on the inside.

                “You’ll be okay with that many new people around? They can be a little…overwhelming.”

                “No. I mean yes! Yes, of course, I want to meet your pack.”

                “They usually come over every week, or every other. For…bonding.” Derek’s face crumpled, like the word left a bad taste in his mouth.  

                “Oh, that’s really—” Stiles almost said “cute,” and he knew Derek wouldn’t appreciate that, “—nice. Really nice.”

                “Good. I want you to feel comfortable here. This is your home, too, now.” Derek seemed just as embarrassed with the statement as Stiles was because he pointedly filled his mouth with food, rendering himself unable to talk any farther.

                Stiles nodded meekly, smiled for a moment, and then dug back into his second helping of macaroni. If nothing else could be said about Derek, he at least kept Stiles well-fed.

                Stiles was placing his dishes in the sink after dinner, when he turned to the werewolf. “Derek, I want to help you out around the loft. It isn’t fair that you do all the cooking and cleaning and buying, and then I just sit here. Let me help.”

                Derek’s eyes searched him. “Only if you want to. I don’t want you to do me favors because you feel like you owe me something.”

                “I do owe you, Derek. Everything I have. But nonetheless, I still want to pull my weight around here.”

                Stiles’ answer must have been good enough because Derek handed him a sponge and left the kitchen. Stiles spent a good half-hour washing all of the dishes, packaging the leftovers, and stowing the containers neatly on the shelves in the fridge. He didn’t care that others would accuse him of acting the part of a perfect domestic Assistant. Stiles wasn’t about to let himself become a trophy human.

                Besides, he wanted Derek to see that he was useful, that he should be kept. Stiles had already felt small glimpses of happiness here, and he couldn’t ask for much more as a human.


	3. Chapter 3

                Stiles could not relax, even more so than usual. He was becoming increasingly worried that Derek’s friends wouldn’t like him. No, not his friends. His _pack._ They were so much more than friends; they were family. Could they convince Derek to get rid of him if they didn’t approve? Would Derek do that?

                He was pacing a hole through the carpet of his room. Freshly showered, he couldn’t decide if it was better to dress casually or wear something nice. He hadn’t really bought anything formal, and the thought of wearing his Auction day outfit made him queasy.

                He had scraped through breakfast by the skin of his teeth, hardly speaking so that he wouldn’t have to lie to Derek’s face. After only being up for two hours, Stiles had managed to drive himself into a panic attack.

                He reached a hand out to find the bed, the edges of his vision blurring. The familiar tightness claimed his chest, made breathing an unbearable exertion. His fingers dug viciously into the bedspread in an attempt to brace himself.

                He heard the click of his bedroom door opening but could hardly focus on it. A moment later, Derek had kneeled in his field of vision, looking concerned and edgy. He kept repeating something. Oh, right, that was his name.

                “ _Stiles._ Can you hear me? What’s wrong?”

                The human just shook his head. He couldn’t talk; he couldn’t _breathe._

                Derek’s hand reached out to touch him, and unthinkingly, Stiles grabbed it. The hand was so warm, just like when Derek had cleaned his tattoo the other night. It was nice, and the skin was shockingly soft, considering Derek had such a rough exterior.

                Just like at the Auction, Derek, something about him, supplied Stiles with a point of concentration, something to focus on to get him through his episode. He knew his death-grip wouldn’t even make a dent in Derek’s werewolf strength, but it was reassuring that the older man didn’t pull away.

                In fact, he froze, those kaleidoscope eyes of his— _ridiculous_ , a voice in the back of his mind chirped—were scanning Stiles’ face continuously.

                Gradually, Stiles felt the tension in his chest start to dissolve, his breathing settle and relax. At that exact moment, he realized two other things: one, he was still clutching onto Derek, and two, he was only in his towel from his shower.

                In a flurry of ungraceful limbs, he tore his hand out of Derek’s and attempted to cover himself with his arms, despite the little good he knew it would do.

                “What the hell was that?” Derek hadn’t moved, still kneeling at the side of Stiles’ bed.

                “Just a panic attack. I get them sometimes.” Derek seemed to be ignoring the fact that he was crouching at Stiles’ half-naked body, so Stiles chose to do the same. He was already blushing to the point of mortification.

                “You had one on the day I met you.”

                “Well, yeah.” Stiles’ hand shot out to scratch nervously at the back of his head. “Stressful day and all. But I don’t get them often,” he finished hurriedly. The last thing he needed was for Derek to think he was defective.

                “But you’re okay now?”

                “Yeah. Totally. How did you know anyway?”

                Derek looked slightly embarrassed. “Your heart sounded different. Too erratic.”

                “Oh.”

                “And your scent changed…Became a little sour.” Damn chemosignals, Stiles sighed.

                “Sorry?” He didn’t even know for what he was apologizing. Disturbing Derek’s sensitive werewolf nose? The older man just shook his head like Stiles was being foolish.

                “Why did it happen? You must have been upset about something.”

                “Nothing. Just—”

                “ _Stiles_ ,” Derek growled warningly, calling the lie before it even finished leaving Stiles’ lips.

                “I was just nervous about tonight.”

                Derek rose to his feet abruptly. “I knew it was too soon. I’m gonna call them and cancel.”

                “No, Derek. That’s not fair. I don’t want to keep you away from your pack. I’m excited. I’m just...worried that they won’t...like me. I know that’s stupid.”

                “I don’t think you need to worry, Stiles.” There was a small smirk on his lips, there and gone in an instant.

                Stiles spent the rest of the day trying not to fidget too much. He tried to read but couldn’t focus. The waiting and the anticipation were too much, consuming his thoughts.

                They would be over after dinner, Derek had told him. He had been tapping his foot on the linoleum the entire way through the meal until the werewolf had given him a pointed stare.

                When Stiles heard the grate of the front door sliding open, his heart sped up. But in a good way. Despite the lingering anxiety, he _was_ excited to meet Derek’s family.

                “Derek! We have a surprise for you!” Stiles wandered out of the kitchen towards the stranger’s voice and found his owner with his trademark crossed arms and grimace. It didn’t seem to deter the young man who had entered in the slightest.

                Stiles guessed the guy was nearly the same age as him but with tanned skin and deep brown puppy dog eyes. Without hesitation, he stepped up to Derek and gave him a one-armed hug. The human worried that Derek might lash out violently, but he actually returned the hug. Well, they were pack after all.

                He had barely had time to glance at the new guy before another person entered the apartment. Stiles was keeping himself pressed against the wall, out of the way, where he could look but remain largely unnoticed. The girl had silky black hair that fell past her shoulders and porcelain features. Immediately, she slipped her hand into the guy’s and gave Derek a small smile.

                “Hi, Kira.” Derek returned the smile, a gentle, friendly one that Stiles had never seen on his face before. He would never admit that it kind of made his heart melt, the obvious love and affection that was already palpable between the pack members.

                Derek’s eyes flicked over to Stiles, where he was trying to disappear into the wall. Doubts had started to thread through his mind again. There was a tight-knit quality to the pack that he couldn’t hope to be a part of. And he wasn’t sure why he was so desperate to be a part of it in the first place.

                His mind offered objectively, _if Derek’s friends like you, there is a better chance of you staying around_.

                “Stiles. Come here.” Two other sets of eyes fell on him as he made his way over to Derek’s side.

                “This is Scott,” he gestured to the boy, “and Kira.” The girl offered Stiles a shy smile that was so sweet the teen wanted to give her a hug. Her voice was equally pleasant, all gentleness and care. “Hi, Stiles.”

                Stiles automatically smiled back at her, a voice nagging at him that he was being too bold. But Derek hadn’t said anything, and no one seemed upset.

                The boy was not nearly as reserved as his girlfriend. He pulled Stiles into a brief hug like they had known each other for years. And it didn’t even feel awkward. The guy was all smiles and possessed the most positive aura that Stiles had ever encountered, especially in a Supernatural. Stiles doubted there was any malice in him.

                “Hey, man. It’s great to finally meet you.”

                “You, too.” Stiles felt a little winded and was relieved when Scott turned back to Derek.

                “Malia is bringing your present up through the elevator. Lydia’s helping.”

                Derek made a noise of displeasure that was actually audible. And Stiles did not find it adorable. At all. “You know I hate surprises, Scott.”

                “I know, but you’re gonna love it. And besides, it’s mostly for Stiles, so it really only matters if he likes it.” Stiles’ eyes nearly bugged out of his head. A present? He had never received a present in his life. Aside from the extra food rations that his dad would give him on his birthday because he couldn’t afford to give him anything else.

                “Scott,” already the name felt natural in his mouth, “I can’t accept anything. I don’t—”

                “Dude, don’t worry about it. It’s a welcome-to-the-pack gift.” Stiles felt his face burning from all the attention, the fact that they had thought to buy him something at all.

                The opening of the loft door caught Stiles’ attention, followed by the arrival of two bickering girls. They were carrying a large rectangular box, wrapped in festive paper with a large bow attached to one side.

                “Careful, careful,” the taller girl huffed. The other one, with flowing strawberry-blonde hair, helped to deposit the box on the couch.

                “Hey, Stiles, right? I’m Malia.” She gave a brusque nod towards the teen that reminded him of Derek.

                The other girl pecked Stiles delicately on the cheek and pulled back to grace him with a dazzling smile. “Lydia.”

                Lydia clapped her hands together and chirped, “Okay, Stiles, go open your present.”

                The pack crowded around the couch, sitting on the arms or the coffee table, while Derek stood nearby. They were all watching Stiles expectantly as he peeled the edge of the tape away from the wrapping paper.

                “For the love of god, Stiles. Tear it open.” Yep, Malia was frighteningly similar to Derek. Stiles ripped the paper away, but was careful to save the large red bow because he liked it.

                The cardboard box was printed with pictures and writing, and it took Stiles a minute to figure out what he was actually looking at. He knew what a TV was, as well as most other modern electronic devices. It was just that he had never handled any of them before and didn’t know how to use them.

                “Between long, heartfelt conversations with Derek—” Stiles saw the glare that Derek sent to Lydia, “—we figured you could watch some movies and just enjoy yourself. It’s really addicting actually.”

                Stiles’ fingers were trailing reverently over the box. He knew that movies were just a like a book but with the added sensory depth that came from images and sounds. He couldn’t even imagine how much it had cost, that familiar sludge of guilt sitting heavily in his stomach.

                Derek seemed to notice his face drop slightly. “Stiles, it’s a _gift_. Stop worrying.”

                He nodded and started opening the box, carefully sliding out the foam support pieces until the television was lying safely on its back on the couch cushions. It was sleek and black and glossy, just like Derek’s car. It was beautiful.

                “Thank you.” His voice was soft, mesmerized. He looked up at the group of people smiling at him and flushed once again.

                “Kira can set it up for you tonight,” Scott offered.

                “Electricity’s sort of my thing,” she added.

                Stiles’ face scrunched up in question. “Are all of you wolves?”  

                “Just me and Derek,” Scott answered with a gentle smile.

                “Scott’s an Alpha.” There was a tendril of pride tangled in Derek’s words. Stiles could see Derek acting as Scott’s big brother, regardless of one another’s power status.

                “I’m a _kitsune._ Or a fox. That works, too.” Kira’s eyes glowed a brilliant yellow-orange for a moment before returning to black.

                “Were-coyote.” Stiles was starting to admire Malia’s bluntness. He would probably never meet anyone as honest as her.

                “And I’m a banshee.” Lydia raised two fingers in a lazy salute.

                “Well…that’s great.” Stiles cracked an easy smile, and the pack laughed around him. It was nice. Really nice.

                The rest of the night was dedicated to setting up the television. Kira took the lead, connecting cables and cords to each other and the TV and the wall across from the couch. Scott and Malia did the heavy lifting, setting the machine onto one of the end tables that was now serving as a stand.

                Lydia sat next to Stiles on the couch, keeping him entertained with pack stories and embarrassing details about all of its members.

                And then Derek. He was leaning against the wall, nearby, with a look of ease on his face, just content to be surrounded by his pack. Not needing to say or do anything. The wolf looked more peaceful than Stiles had ever seen him.

                They managed to get the TV fully functioning within an hour and then collapsed around the couch, calm and sleepy from the late hour of the evening. Watching some movie that Stiles had never heard of with actors he had never seen.

                Malia had grumbled about “needing more furniture” as she snuggled down onto the arm of the couch. Lydia had curled her legs under her skirt and dropped her pale cheek onto  Stiles’ shoulder. He had tensed for a second, unsure of how to respond, when the banshee gave his bicep a quick squeeze. Looking around himself, it was easy to see how affectionate and tactile they were with each other. For the wolves and the coyote especially, touch was an important part of bonding.

                Stiles should have been unnerved with how quickly he became comfortable with Derek’ s pack. But they were as threatening as a litter of cuddly kittens and hadn’t seemed to care one bit that he was only a human.

                Scott and Kira had elected to sit on the floor, lounging against the front of the couch. The fox’s slender hands brushed through her boyfriend’s hair where his head was cushioned against her, both of them being hopelessly adorable. 

                Stiles’ eyes flicked back to the movie and then to his side, where Derek was sitting. The werewolf was looking right back at him, eyes glassy in the darkness, dancing with the flashing images of the TV. He offered Derek a fragile smile, thankful that his blush was hidden, and then dutifully turned back to watch the rest of the film.

                Derek finally kicked everyone out when they all started falling asleep in his living room. They left, giving both him and Derek waves and hugs and a complimentary kiss from Lydia. Stiles was practically glowing, feeling happy and safe for the first time since he had left his father.

                The werewolf slid his door closed, locked it for the night, and turned back to Stiles.

                “I think it’s safe to say that they like you.” Stiles smiled bashfully, biting his lip. God, did he feel giddy right now.

                “Me, too.”

                Derek settled back in his spot next to Stiles, twitching in his seat. It was unnatural for Derek to be the one fidgeting.

                “Stiles…”

                The human faced Derek, eyes full and dark and glistening in the faint light. “Yeah?”

                “Stiles, I need to—I have to—” he growled in frustration.

                “It’s okay. What do you need me to do?”

                “Nothing. I—I need to scent you.”

                Stiles blinked a few times, his face scrunched in confusion. “Oh-kay. Sure. Um. Why?”

                Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. “You smell like the pack.”

                “I thought that was good.”

                “Normally, it would be. But you’re mine,” again with the shiver, “and now that it’s just you and me here, I need you to smell like me.” The wolf closed his eyes like he was wounded. 

                Stiles pulled his knees up to his chest and started plucking at the hem of his shirt. “Does that mean you’ll have to scent me every time they come over?”

                “Probably.”

                “Oh. Um—”

                Derek’s exasperation was starting to show. “Stiles, I’m asking your permission. I won’t physically scent you without your say-so. You could just borrow a set of my clothes instead.”

                “Is that as effective?”

                “Not nearly.”

                “It’s just to reassure your wolf?” Stiles wished his voice didn’t sound so small. He didn’t want Derek to think he was afraid. He wasn’t really. Just uncertain of what was going to happen.

                “That’s all.”

                “Okay. What should I do?”

                “Just relax. Tell me if you get uncomfortable. I’ll need to touch your skin.”

                Derek manhandled him until Stiles was sitting towards the edge of the cushion. Why did the wolf’s hands have to be so warm? They were sliding tamely up the outsides of Stiles’ arms and then brushing over his shoulders. He shouldn’t have been wanting to lean into his touches. Derek had been kind to him—if not the most sociable person—but Stiles really didn’t know much about him.

                And he certainly didn’t trust him. As a human, he would be stupid to. Yet, Stiles believed that he wasn’t in danger with Derek. Sure, he might get hurt, but he didn’t think Derek wanted him to.

                The wolf brushed over Stiles’ neck perfunctorily, and Stiles bit into his tongue to suppress his shiver. He wasn’t trying to make this any harder for Derek that it needed to be. Fingers were smoothing over the skin of his nape, and he was glad his eyes were closed already because they would be fluttering right now.

                Suddenly, the hands surged under his shirt and started running over his bare skin. He jerked in surprise and tried to move away on instinct. Derek let him go, probably hearing the rapid elevation of his heartbeat.

                “Sorry. You just surprised me.”

                Derek’s eyebrows lifted, asking for more reassurance than that. He certainly had some expressive eyebrows. Somehow, they were more communicative than his mouth.

                “I’m okay. Really.” Stiles shuffled back closer to Derek and stared at the older man expectantly. It wasn’t a good idea to keep looking when those hands slipped back under his top and skimmed over his ribs, his stomach, up to his chest. Derek was so beautiful, he truly was, and even though his touches were fleeting and light, efficient and calculated, Stiles found himself nearly humming in pleasure.

                It was a simple comfort, to be touched softly. And he had never really had the opportunity to luxuriate in it.

                The heel of Derek’s hands grazed his nipples on their path to his sternum. He felt a familiar tug deep in his gut. The prologue to his arousal, which would pool and burn in the pit of his belly and groin when he touched himself. Like in the cramped bathroom of his quarters, stripping his cock almost painfully in such hurry and desperation. Biting deeply into the meat of his hand, hoping that no one would hear, that no one would knock.

                Stiles remembered the werewolf book upstairs under his pillow. Derek would be able to smell his desire if he didn’t snuff it out _right now._ He conjured up thoughts of the splinters he used to get from handling wooden boards all day. Of the smell of the quarters when flu season came and the room was ripe with vomit and snot and cold soup.

                “Done.” Derek pulled away from him and stood up to put a few feet between them for good measure. Stiles wasn’t offended; the whole situation was awkward.

                Stiles stared at his feet while he straightened out his shirt. “Um. I was going to stay here for a little longer.”

                “You like it then?” The wolf cocked his head towards the television. Only he could make a simple question feel like an interrogation.

                “I really do. It’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever done for me.”

                Derek nodded brusquely, in that way that he did. He never wasted anything, with his short responses, succinct gestures, practically non-existent body language. “They’re a good pack.”

                “I won’t keep you up with the TV?” Derek’s bed was essentially in the corner of the living room after all.

                “No. I’ll be fine.”

                Stiles refused to watch Derek stroll over to his bed because he was focusing on the movie that was playing. Enjoying it immensely. Not thinking about Derek changing only a couple dozen of feet away. He could feel his eyes itching, wanting to peek mostly out of curiosity. But he couldn’t. Not when Derek took measures to make sure Stiles’ own privacy was respected.

                After midnight, Stiles made his way up to bed, glancing over at Derek who was still and fast asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

                After the first few hectic days at the loft, it was inevitable that Stiles’ life would return to a calmer equilibrium. Living with Derek wasn’t nearly as terrifying as he had thought it would be. Mostly, they kept to themselves, Stiles in his room and Derek in the living room. Except for the occasions where Stiles was watching TV and Derek was reading at the end of the couch.

                Aside from the cleaning that Stiles insisted he do himself, Derek was content to let the human do whatever he wanted. It made Stiles wonder for the millionth time why the wolf had even bought a human in the first place since he wasn’t really do anything for him. Unless jacking up the grocery bill counted.

                Perhaps it was the passing of time, or the gradual acceptance of one another’s constant presence, but Stiles felt that Derek was becoming less annoyed with him. He wouldn’t exactly describe their relationship as _friendly_ —more that Derek’s tolerance for Stiles’ antics had increased. They found a strange sort of rhythm where they could go about their days without the wolf popping claws and threatening to shred Stiles to ribbons.

                Unfortunately, in the midst of such a fragile truce, it was time for Stiles to track down his broody housemate and finally ask him. He had been thinking about it since he first moved in, and now he felt that he was in as good of graces as he would ever be with Derek.

                He wobbled downstairs on sleep-numb legs one morning to find Derek cooking eggs at the stove. They both learned quickly that Stiles practically had a werewolf’s sense of smell when it came to food. It was nearly Pavlovian—Stiles smothered his giggle at _another_ dog joke, but honestly, they just kept popping into his head—how he would smell the delicious scent of food wafting through the apartment  and immediately chase it downstairs. Derek hardly called him down for meals anymore because he never had to.

                Stiles could also smell coffee and saw it sluggishly dripping into the pot on the side of the counter. It would probably be wise to wait until Derek had his first cup before trying to engage in serious conversation.

                The food as usual was amazing, and Stiles was even beginning to pace himself since he figured out that he was being fed to his heart’s—well, his stomach’s—content. Derek often watched him take second helpings, with his expression begging _Where is it all going?_

                “Derek.”

                The wolf raised his eyebrows subtly in question. He was still sleep-ruffled, with lines on his face from his pillow and his hair fluffy and wild. Something in Stiles would twinge every time he saw Derek looking like this. It was not nearly as intimidating.

                “I need to ask you a favor.” Best to just get to the point. The older man had no patience for small talk, probably considered it an opportunity for manipulation or deceit.

                “What is it?” Derek’s voice was still rough, and he took another gulp of coffee.

                “I want to go see my father.” There was no response, and Stiles’ guts tightened in worry. Derek didn’t seem that unreasonable compared to other Supernaturals. The boy had expected his owner to at least consider it before turning him down. In which case, Stiles had a plan B that involved copious amounts of begging.

                “When?”

                A spark of hope burned inside of the teen. “As soon as we can. Tonight or tomorrow night?”

                “Okay.”

                Stiles dropped his knife, and it clanged against the plate too loudly. He hardly noticed it even though Derek winced. “What’s okay? We can go?”

                Derek nodded with a mouthful of food. After swallowing, he offered, “Tonight if you want.”

                “Yes! Yes, please. _Derek_.” Stiles was too ecstatic, and he was smiling like a complete idiot.

                “You can get me to your sector?”

                “From the town square, I remember the way back. It shouldn’t take long to get there. It was only a half-hour walk.”

                Derek nodded. Stiles couldn’t contain his grin, tried to eat, but found that he was too excited. He almost reached out to touch Derek, maybe touch his forearm in some small gesture to convey how grateful he was, how much this meant to him. With anyone else, he would be giving them a hug. But Derek wasn’t really a friend, and they most certainly did not hug.

                “Is there anything you want me to do? I-I could try and cook, but you’re a better cook than me. Or I could do your laundry—if you let me. I swear, it’s not weird for me at all. Do you want me to wash your car—”

                “Stiles—” Derek seemed subtly horrified, like he was worried Stiles was either going to go into a fit or explode. Until now, the teenager had done his best to suppress his natural proclivities towards sarcasm and rambling. Derek was utterly unprepared. “—I don’t need you to do anything. Except, maybe calm down. Your heart rate is becoming alarming.”

                “Okay. Sorry. I’m just—” Stiles took a deep breath and exhaled, “I just really appreciate it. Like _really_. That’s all.”

                The sheer outburst of emotion seemed to discombobulate Derek. It was a little funny. He was blinking a lot, staring purposefully at his breakfast. “It’s okay, Stiles. What time did you want to go?”

                “Well, work ends early on Sundays. So as long as we’re there after seven, it’s okay.”

                “Okay.”

* * *

 

                It took nearly all of Stiles’ self-control to stop himself from running to the car after dinner. Derek would not have been amused.

                He was drumming his fingers on his knees for most of the car ride until Derek’s hand covered his for a second, stopping it. But the wolf didn’t chastise him or say anything at all. Stiles sensed that Derek understood it couldn’t be helped.

                The sun was just starting to set, and it would be dark when they got back home. _Home._ It should feel strange to think of the loft as “home,” but it felt more natural than the quarters he was returning to. Rarely had he ever been comfortable or safe there, even with his father.

                They parked along the street, in front of one of the buildings used for housing workers.   

                “You’ll have to talk to the guard. Dan’s a fae, and he’s not a bad guy. Just tell him that you’re visiting Stilinski.”

                Derek got them past the guard with no trouble, and then Stiles led the way. His quarters were on the fifth floor of an abandoned apartment building. The rooms had been cleared of all furniture but cots, and the bathrooms were left intact. The elevator had been disconnected since Stiles could remember. After a couple of suicides, some supervisor had it sealed shut. They took the stairs.

                The guard on the floor made a beeline for them, a large smile on his face. When he was only a few feet away and closing in, Derek pushed Stiles behind himself and growled lowly. The other Supernatural just laughed good-naturedly and backed up, his hands splayed in surrender.

                “Jesus, Stiles. What sort of beast did they stick you with?”

                Derek growled even louder. From the slightly garbled quality of it, Stiles could tell that the wolf’s fangs had slipped out. Stiles was effectively pressed against the muscled plane of Derek’s back, his face near Derek’s ear.

                “Derek, it’s alright. He’s just screwing around. He’s been the guard on this floor for years.” The wolf had tensed when Stiles’ breath touched the back of his neck. Gradually, he nodded and lowered his raised shoulders, stepping to the side to put some distance between himself and Stiles.

                “A wolf? Should’ve known. Nasty possessive streak.” The guard snickered to himself again.

                Derek looked only slightly more relaxed. His fangs had retracted, but his eyes were still glowing an electric blue. He was anything but amused with the guard and bit out, “We’re visiting Stilinski.”

                “Sure.” The guard unlocked the door closest to them and started moving back towards the opposite end of the hall, repeating his round.

                Stiles was just about to knock when Derek touched his forearm gently. “Do you want me to wait outside?”

                Stiles did an impression of a fish for a moment, mouth opening uselessly. He finally settled on words. “You don’t have to.” He was sort of afraid what Derek would do to Rodriguez if he stayed out here with him.

                A girl opened the door, no one Stiles recognized. Workers moved around too much, switching to different residence sectors in various parts of town based on their current project. Stiles had only been living here for a few weeks before the Auction, and they were only scheduled to be here for another month. There was never enough time to really make friends.

                The girl took one look at Derek and dropped her eyes, starting to tremble.

                Stiles spoke quietly. “I’m just looking for my dad. Thanks.” Stiles caught the door while she stalked off without a word, moving back to her cot.

                Other humans were chatting to each other, sleeping, mending clothes, one of the younger kids was drawing. Stiles scanned the room and didn’t see his father. He moved back towards what would have been bedrooms in a normal apartment. He found his dad in the first one.

                He was laying on his cot, hands tucked behind his head. Stiles flicked his eyes back at Derek and nodded. Stiles all but ran to his dad’s bed, trying to keep quiet for the people who had already gone to sleep.

                “Dad,” he called softly, touching his father’s shoulder.

                The next moment Stiles felt himself being dragged into his dad’s embrace, crushed to the point of suffocation. It didn’t matter; he was so happy. “Oh my god, Stiles.”

                His dad pushed Stiles away softly, holding his son’s face in his hands. “What are you doing here?”

                “I missed you.” The elder Stilinski choked on a laugh and pulled Stiles back in for another enthusiastic hug.

                “How did you—”

                “Derek.” Stiles cocked a head over his shoulder to where the wolf was leaning against the doorway.

                “Mr. Hale, I apologize. I didn’t see you.” His dad was about to stand up and bow properly when Stiles placed a hand on his shoulder.

                “You don’t need to, dad. Derek’s not overly traditional.” His father spared a glance at the werewolf, and Derek gave a respectful tilt of his head.

                Hesitantly, his father’s eyes fell back onto him. “So, it’s Derek, huh? Stiles, are you okay? Are you hurt? Because if he even—”

                “Dad, he can hear you. He’s a werewolf. So could you try not to be all accusatory and threatening.”

                His father’s eyes were starting to squint in that way they did when he was just about at the end of his patience. “I don’t care what he is. If he did _anything—_ ”

                “No, he didn’t. I’m fine. Completely. I just wanted to see you. Make sure you were alright.”

                His father looked incredulous.“Me? Stiles, I’m not living with a werewolf. You haven’t gone through a full moon yet, have you?”

                “Not yet. Listen, Dad. Everything’s fine. He treats me really well.” Stiles could feel the blush burning his cheeks, knowing that Derek would be hearing every word. But to comfort his father, it was a small price to pay. For now, the dim candlelight in the room would hide most of it. “He um, bought me books, so I can keep reading. And I met his pack, and most of them are my age. They’re really nice.”

                His dad huffed. “So, he’s taking care of you?”

                “Yeah. I’ve eaten more in the last two weeks than in the last year, I think.” Stiles would have loved to bring extra food for his father, but he knew the guards would confiscate it  before letting them in the building.

                The father palmed his son’s face again, turning the boy’s head from side to side. A worn smile broke out across his dad’s  face. “You look good, kiddo.” The next instant, his dad’s face hardened again, and he continued with his interrogation. “What are you doing for him?” The unspoken question laid between them.

                Stiles answered hurriedly. “Just cleaning the apartment. Dishes, laundry. You know, easy stuff compared to what you’re doing.”

                His dad squeezed his shoulder affectionately and made room for Stiles to sit down next to him. “How are _you_ , Dad? Have you been eating?”

                “Son, I’m just fine. Even better, now that I know you’re okay.”

                “I’m good. Really.”

                They stayed for another twenty minutes before his dad was ushering him out. “Stiles, as much as I don’t want you to leave, I want you away from this place. You’ve spent too much time here as it is.”

                “What about you?” Stiles whispered sadly, feeling an ache in his chest at leaving his father here when he would be going back to a soft bed.

                “You’re going to have a better life than this, Stiles. I don’t need anything else. Now off you go.”

                He hugged his dad until he was pushed away, rough hands squeezing at his shoulders. “I love you, kiddo.”

                “I love you, too. I’m coming back, you know.”

                “Don’t worry about me, Stiles. I’ll be fine.” He offered one last smile before Stiles slipped out of the bedroom. Every step felt like a mistake, and by the time he had reached the hallway, he felt sick.

                He waited for Rodriguez to lock the door and leave before falling apart. When he slumped sideways into the wall, he knew his attack was already seizing hold of him. Derek had rushed to his side, letting Stiles lean against him and the wall for support. To Stiles’ embarrassment, he had started crying. The sobs were making it even harder to breathe than usual, and the _sounds_ he was making were awful.

                “Stiles, Stiles. Listen to my voice. It’s alright. Calm down. Come on, try and breathe for me.”

                The teen only managed to choke out, “I can’t leave him here.”

                He was clutching onto the front of Derek’s shirt with white knuckles, feeling like he was going to pass out. The wolf pried one of his hands away and pressed it flat to his chest. As expected, Derek was solid muscle, the hand covering his own unbelievably warm.

                “Can you feel my heart? My breaths?” Stiles nodded, as shallow breaths wheezed in an out of him. “Use their rhythm. Focus on them and nothing else.”

                The beats were steady, relaxed. Stiles zoned in on the pattern, the heat from Derek’s hand, and tried to synchronize his breathing to the rise and fall of Derek’s chest.

                It took minutes—the attack had been worse than usual—before Stiles had calmed down. He had slumped down to the floor, feeling exhausted and wrung out.

                “We can come back every week, Stiles. You won’t have to leave him behind.”

                The teen nodded, swallowing around his dry mouth. “Thank you.” But really, he was thinking _it’s not enough._


	5. Chapter 5

                The full moon was happening in three days. And every time Stiles had mentioned it to Derek in the last week, the wolf had gotten all huffy. Usually, Stiles would drop a line of conversation that made Derek prickly, but this wasn’t just about him. If Stiles was going to be locked up in the loft with a werewolf on the night he was most impulsive and primal, then the teen deserved to know what to expect.

                He cornered Derek that afternoon while the older man was alternating between his book and the TV.

                Stiles curled up on the opposite corner of the couch and pulled his legs in close to his chest. A minute passed before Derek’s eyes lifted over the top of his book to catch Stiles’ gaze.

                “What?”

                “Derek, we need to talk about what we’re going to do for the full moon.”

                The werewolf sighed and dropped his book into his lap. “Again, Stiles? I told you. I’m in complete control of myself during the full moons. There’s really nothing to do.”

                “Please. I have a right to know. If something happens, I need to be prepared.”

                Derek rubbed a hand over his forehead, down the side of his face. He was silent and considering for a few moments. “Yeah, you’re right. I was just going to have you lock yourself in your room.”

                “Why don’t you just take my room?” Derek’s eyes narrowed.

                Stiles added quickly, “I wasn’t trying to sound like a smartass, I promise. I was just thinking. It’s the only place in the apartment that’s really enclosed, in case you want to be secluded. And then I would have access to the kitchen without bothering you. And-and I could bring you food throughout the day.”

                “Your room won’t work.”

                “Why not?”

                “Your scent is everywhere.”

                “Isn’t my scent pretty much everywhere in the loft by now?” The fact seemed to displease Derek because the muscle in his jaw ticced and he swallowed tightly.

                “Yes, but it’s…concentrated in your room. It would be too distracting.”

                Stiles cupped the back of his neck anxiously. “Oh, okay then. Never mind.”

                “You can take whatever you want out of the cupboards to last you for the evening. I bought a case of water, too. But that’s just in case I start feeling out of control.”

                Stiles’ eyes were skipping over Derek’s face, nervous to settle anywhere for too long. He was thinking how to phrase his next question without offending the wolf.

                “How will I know when you’ve started to lose control?” Obviously, tearing bite-size chunks out of Stiles with his canines and claws would be a pretty solid indicator. He was hoping Derek would give him a heads-up before it reached that point.

                Derek stared at him, the level of seriousness in his expression enough to make Stiles look back into his eyes. “I’m not going to unnecessarily endanger you over my pride. I’ll tell you the second I have any doubts.”

                Stiles nodded, knowing that it was difficult for Derek to concede that there was even a possibility of himself losing control.

                 “What if I go somewhere else instead? One of your pack could take me just for the night?”

                Derek’s nostrils flared, and he turned away from Stiles. “That’s not an option. Scott has a firm grasp on his shift, but Malia doesn’t. Kira and Scott will be with her for the full moon.”

                “What about Lydia?” Stiles saw a flicker of irritation cross Derek’s face. The boy wasn’t trying to run away from him or seem ungrateful; he was just trying to stay alive. Despite all of the good things Derek had done for him, Stiles didn’t trust him. That just didn’t happen overnight.

                “Stiles, my wolf has gotten used to you being here. Your absence might upset it—me—and I might come looking for you. I think it’s best if you just stay.” By the end of his sentence, a troubled expression covered the wolf’s face.

                There was a few beats of silence where Stiles fidgeted and tried to figure out what sensitive spot he had poked accidentally. “Derek…I know you don’t want to hurt me. I’m just not sure—”

                “—if that’ll be enough to stop me,” the wolf finished. He nodded his head. “We should be taking every precaution we can.”

                Derek walked over to his nightstand and searched through the drawers until he pulled out a clear spray bottle. He handed it to Stiles and said, “It’s water, infused with wolfsbane. As a last resort. Just try not to get it in my eyes.”

                Stiles remembered from his reading how poisonous wolfsbane was to wolves, how different species possessed varying toxicity levels. How it could be _fatal._ Stiles wondered why Derek would even have something like this in his home, let alone his _nightstand._ Clearly, the dude had some deep-rooted issues.

                “It’s less toxic to humans, but be careful not to spill any on yourself. Keep it in your room from now on, but don’t tell me where you put it.”

                This was good. They at least had some defensive measures in place now. If Stiles wasn’t dead after the full moon, his dad would want to know that he was doing his best to keep himself safe.

* * *

                 The day of the full moon came quicker than Stiles expected. Even though he had been waiting for it, worrying about it for the last several days. Still, it arrived, and Stiles didn’t feel prepared.

                Everything would probably run smoothly, as Derek had assured him countless times. The wolf might not be affected at all with Stiles here, and he would act just as grumpy and reserved as always. He might not even shift. It was still a strong possibility.

                For most of the day, everything was normal. Derek still made breakfast and lunch for both of them although there was a lot of eye rolling. Stiles might have been glancing at the wolf more frequently than usual. From an outsider’s perspective, it might have been considered _ogling._

                Finally, Derek bit out that he was fine and in no way tempted “to rip your throat out with my teeth.”

                It wasn’t until later that evening, when it had gotten dark, that Stiles noticed Derek’s behavior changing. They had been watching television together because Stiles was strung too tight to focus on anything else. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Derek flexing his hands against his knees. It looked like he was hardly breathing.

                “Stiles, you don’t need to panic, but it’s time for you to go upstairs.” Stiles finally turned to look at the wolf, saw claws slip out and then retract the next second. His eyes flashed blue before immediately returning to their clear hazel color. It was like watching the power flicker, an uncoordinated and irregular switch between two states.

                “If it gets bad, lock both doors and stay in the bathroom. Keep the wolfsbane close.”

                “Until sunrise, right? Then you’ll be…” Stiles pointedly did not say _back to normal_ even though he was thinking it “…yourself again.”

                “Yes. Now go, Stiles.” Derek started to sound like there was nothing more in the world that he wanted than for Stiles to not be right next to him. A tendril of panic weaved through his mind, made him practically leap from the couch.

                “For the love of god, _Stiles_ , do not fucking run. I’m fine right now.”

                Stiles moved as leisurely as his limbs would allow and softly closed his door to his room, making sure to lock it.

                They had brought provisions up to his room last night in case Stiles did need to spend an unforeseen amount of time in here. A couple bottles of water, a bag of chips, and some pudding cups, which had quickly become a favorite of Stiles’.

                Immediately, Stiles opened his closet and unfolded the pair of sweatpants on the bottom shelf. The clear bottle of wolfsbane felt heavy in his palm, deceitful with its innocuous appearance. Something so simple, that could do so much damage. Stiles was hoping he wouldn’t have to use it.

                And then, there was just waiting. The teen knew that he wouldn’t be able to relax enough to do anything other than wait for sunrise.

                A few hours in, and Stiles felt like an idiot for worrying so much. Because absolutely _nothing_ was happening. He hadn’t heard a sound in ages and long since abandoned his pacing to sprawl face-down onto his bed. In fact, he had practically fallen asleep, his eyelids heavy and drooping.

                Until he heard a distinct noise. A scraping of wood that was close by. Like claws scratching tracks across his door.

                He hadn’t heard _anything_ , not a clang on the metal stairs or the creak in the hallway. Stiles had figured that since Derek was so big, he would be able to hear him coming. It must be another werewolf thing. Or perhaps, a Derek thing. The man did seem like he would be able to lurk with the best of them, hiding in the shadows and such.

                Stiles’ heart—the traitorous organ—was thundering beneath his ribs. Alerting Derek to the fact that Stiles knew he was there. His hand tightened around the bottle of wolfsbane, and he backed up silently towards the bathroom.

                Even if Derek could break through the wood, having two doors between himself and the wolf made Stiles feel more secure.

                He was at the doorway to the bathroom when he heard a quiet “Stiles” called through the door. It made him freeze, partly in terror and curiosity.

                “Stiles, please.” He had never heard Derek sound so desperate before. He was almost _whining._

                The teen opened his mouth but then let it gape. He didn’t know what to say. Obviously, Derek knew he was in here; it wasn’t exactly a secret. But acknowledging the wolf’s presence seemed like a bad idea.

                “Stiles, open the door. I’m fine. I promise.” Uh huh, he believed that as far as he could throw his burly owner. The knob twisted, and Stiles’ heart spiked with fear.

                A voice inside his head was telling him to stop flirting with his possible death and lock himself in the bathroom right now.

                “It _hurts,_ Stiles. Please.” The older man kept saying his name, almost like a mantra. It wasn’t typical Derek behavior, that’s for sure. And Stiles had no idea what the wolf was begging him for.

                Another scrape of claws against his door. “Just talk to me. I know I can’t come in. That was wrong of me, before.”

                Stiles moved a step forwards and paused, waiting for the door to break down. He edged close enough that he was able to touch the whorls of wood in front of him.

                Derek spoke suddenly, breaking the silence, and Stiles jumped. “Stiles, I can smell you. You’re closer.”

                “Derek.” He couldn’t force himself to do anything but whisper. It already felt like a huge mistake to be engaging. If he tried to back away now, would Derek know? Would he think that Stiles was trying to run away in some strange little wolfy part of his mind? Would it make Derek want to _chase_ him?

                There was a thud on the other side of the door. Maybe a forehead or the heel of a hand.

                “Stiles, I’m not going to burst through the door. But stay there. It’s better.”

                “Are you alright? You said you were hurting?” Hopefully Derek hadn’t stumbled onto some other hidden stash of wolfsbane.

                There was a chuckle in reply. “Oh, that. Yeah, I’m okay now.” It was the first time Stiles had ever heard Derek laugh, but he wasn’t sure it was an entirely happy sound.

                “Talk, Stiles. It’s a good distraction.”

                “About what?”

                There was a slightly menacing growl from the hallway. “ _Anything_.”

                Stiles scoured his brain for something. Normally, he had a million questions swirling around his head, and he was just too nervous to ask Derek—he had been thinking that Scott would be more receptive actually. But now, nothing.

                “Um, well. Are you a bitten wolf?”

                “No.” Derek was going to make this whole “talking” thing a grueling ordeal, Stiles could already feel it.

                “Oh. It’s just that I read—heard—somewhere that full moons can be more difficult for bitten wolves.”

                “I’m a born wolf. Scott was bitten.”

                A genuine spark of curiosity ignited inside of Stiles. “So that means he was a human once, like me?”

                “Obviously. A few years ago, at the Auction, Scott was claimed by an Alpha, who bit him almost immediately. Saw something special in Scott.” There was a drag in Derek’s words, like every one exhausted him further.

                “But Scott’s an Alpha now. And the only way to become an Alpha is…” Stiles’ voice trailed off. As it often did, his mind reached the end of his thought before his mouth, and it left him breathless. He couldn’t imagine Scott as a _killer,_ not with that sweet smile and congenial nature. Stiles started to feel like something had been stolen from him, like he had been betrayed.

                “Scott didn’t kill his Alpha. I told you that the wolf who bit him thought Scott was special, and he was right. Scott’s a true Alpha, one that can ascend from a Beta just by his will.”

                Stiles’ feet were aching with pins and needles from standing still for so long—even with the thick carpet underfoot—and he sunk down onto the floor with his back leaning against the door.

                “That’s impressive.” Stiles might have heard a huff from the other side of the door. The wolf really must have been less in control of himself because the noise was immature and so unlike Derek.

                “Tell your wolf not to get his fur in a bunch. I only have a platonic relationship with Scott.”

                “Stiles.” Derek must have regained his composure because his voice had returned to one of warning and disapproval.

                “Sorry, sorry. I was just teasing.”

                “Don’t.” Stiles’ heart surged for a second, long enough for the older man to hear it. The light scratch of claws pressing to the door reached the human’s ears.

                “Stiles, keep talking.”

                “Can you shift into a full wolf?”

                “Yes. So could my mother and my sister. Malia’s probably a full coyote right now.”

                Stiles paused in consideration. “What’s it like?”

                The subsequent silence stretched for so long that Stiles thought Derek might have left. Which, yeah, _rude,_ but not entirely surprising from Derek. Thinking on it now, Stiles was certain that Derek had never spoken as many words at one time as he was now. It must be his moon-addled mind.

                “Painful at first, but exhilarating.” Stiles pictured the thick, sleek fur, resembling Derek’s hair. The deep, expressive eyes. “Why are you so interested in wolves, Stiles?  My impression of most humans is that they want to know as little about Supernaturals as possible.”

                “Well, I live with you. I want to know who I’m living with. Besides, we’re practically roommates, and you feed me and buy my clothes. That warrants us knowing stuff about each other.” Derek snorted.

                Stiles sighed. “I’m trying to be genuine here, and you’re making sarcastic noises.”

                “I think it’s time for me to go back downstairs.”

                “Why?” Disappointment colored Stiles’ tone, and he blushed violently.

                “Because if I’m starting to act like you, then clearly we are spending too much time together.”

                “What?—Derek, oh my god, was that a _joke_? Did you just make a _joke_?” Stiles was sure the werewolf would have answered if he wasn’t already padding back down the stairs.

* * *

                Stiles had eventually crawled from his floor to his bed, passing out almost instantly, drained from the constant anxiety of the whole day. As far as he knew, Derek hadn’t returned to his door. And if he did, he was very well-behaved, because, hey, Stiles was not dead.

                The full moon must have been even more taxing for Derek because Stiles was the first one awake. Which never happened. There had been no knock on his door nor the smell of breakfast.

                All in all, the full moon had been a success, seeing as Stiles hadn’t even needed to poison Derek with the wolfsbane he carefully hid before he went to bed. Stiles thought that earned Derek the right to sleep in every once in a while.

                Stiles practically tip-toed downstairs, hoping not to wake up his owner with the super-sensitive hearing. The feat was easier said than done. He had tripped at the top of the stairs and nearly fell down the whole flight, grabbing onto the banister for dear life.

                Making breakfast required a small-scale scavenger hunt since Derek was the one who usually handled the cooking. Once Stiles finally found everything he needed, he made scrambled eggs and toast and bacon. Derek didn’t rouse until Stiles started the coffee.

                He walked up behind Stiles to snoop over his shoulder, without making a sound, and Stiles nearly flipped the whole pan of bacon onto the floor.

                “Take pity on the human. You should know better than anyone what your sneaking does to my heart.”

                Derek smirked, a small smile on his lips while he sat down, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly. Stiles split the food between their plates, consciously _not_ looking at the wolf.

                The man, in general, was unfairly attractive. And morning Derek was begrudgingly beautiful. A half-clothed, post-full moon morning Derek was pure blasphemy.

                He had entered the kitchen in nothing more than a pair of low-riding sweatpants, feet bare, hair tousled messily. And yes, just like Stiles had predicted the first time he laid eyes on the man: abs. The most incredible abs he had ever witnessed. And a trail of dark hair right underneath them that dipped into his waistband.

                Oh god. Stiles saw all of these things while he pointedly did _not_ look at Derek.

                “’S good.” The wolf shoveled down his food nearly as fast as Stiles.

                “Don’t sound so surprised.” A dark eyebrow raised dramatically high, and Stiles realized that the slack he had been granted last night had been reeled back in.

                Stiles coughed, took a sip of coffee, and asked, “Are you feeling okay?”

                Derek was too busy staring into his mug to answer Stiles’ question. “There’s nothing in my coffee.”

                Stiles’ mouth gaped. “I thought you liked it black.”

                “I do. I just didn’t think you’d notice.”

                “Dude—I mean, Derek—I eat breakfast with you every morning. It’s not hard to notice.” Derek nodded and took a long gulp.

                “Yesterday went well. I mean, it was good. Both of us have all of our limbs.” Stiles offered Derek a tentative smile.

                “I told you to lock yourself in the bathroom if I lost control.” There was a disapproving edge to Derek’s voice.

                “But you didn’t. Just a little scratching at my door.”

                “You shouldn’t have taken the risk.” Derek’s hand smacked against the tabletop again, making the plates rattle slightly and the coffee shiver in their mugs. There was a deep sigh. “I should’ve done better. Last night was sloppy.”

                “Derek, you didn’t hurt me. Or threaten me in any way. Everything’s fine.”

                “I wasn’t in control last night. I shouldn’t have come anywhere near you. I almost never shift, even halfway, Stiles. And especially not involuntarily.”

                “And you did? Last night?”

                “The _entire_ night. I didn’t even shift back until this morning.” Stiles could understand why Derek was upset. For someone who stressed control—took personal pridein it—it would be upsetting to find his body acting without his consent. But personally, the teen couldn’t find a reason to be upset with him. Stiles hadn’t felt that he was in any serious danger last night once he actually interacted with a wolfed-out Derek. If the wolf was typically used to spending the full moons alone, then it wasn’t a surprise that having another person in the loft would require an adjustment. And Stiles told him so.

                Derek blatantly ignored Stiles’ comment. “It won’t happen again. Next month I’ll make sure it’s better.”

                After breakfast, Stiles placed the dishes into the sink only to be bumped out of the way by Derek.

                “You cooked today. I’ll clean up…and thanks for breakfast.”

                Stiles had enough experience with Derek not to argue over something this small. He simply twitched his lips in a grateful smile and made his way towards his bedroom.

                During Stiles’ customary morning shower, his body getting soapier by the minute, his fingers brushing over the slick skin of his abdomen, the thought occurred to him organically. He could relax a little now with his first full moon under his belt.

                His hand dipped torturously slow, and he relished the stuttering of his breath and the tightening of his belly. When he finally gripped his cock with slippery fingers, his mouth opened into a silent moan, his body slouching against the wall of the shower.

                It had been weeks since the last time he had touched himself, and his release was going to be so sweet. He knew it wasn’t going to take him long. Stiles fingered the slit of his dick before starting to jerk himself off quickly. His forehead was pressed against the cool wall, his teeth sunk into his lip. The last thing he wanted was for Derek’s wolf ears to perk up to the sounds of Stiles’ self-loving. He would never be able to look at the man again.

                His hand was now just a blur on his cock, and he was starting to feel pulses of pleasure as he neared his orgasm. His hips twitched involuntarily until he came, and he felt the tautness of his muscles and the burn in the pit of his gut. He shuddered as his hand brushed his oversensitive skin, milking out the last few drops of come until he finally had to release himself. Stiles was panting slightly, surprised by the force of his climax, his legs feeling unsteady when he stepped out of the shower.

                When he went downstairs later that day, Derek made no indication that he knew what Stiles had been doing. The boy was relieved, and with that internalized sense of safety and privacy, he knew that he would do it again. Surely, if Derek heard Stiles jacking off, he would have snarled and complained before Stiles had even finished.


	6. Chapter 6

                Stiles had been waiting for an opportunity to get Scott alone, and one had finally presented itself. Since Derek housed them during pack nights, at least one other member would volunteer to bring the food. Scott was the only one with a car that night, so he offered to go pick up the pizza. Immediately, Stiles scrambled to his feet and stood next to the Alpha.

                “I’ll go with you.” Stiles’ eyes jumped over to Derek’s. “If that’s okay?”

                Derek’s face underwent a complex ripple of emotions that started at his eyebrows and ended at his lips. He almost seemed embarrassed that Stiles had asked his permission, but the human didn’t have a death wish, contrary to Derek’s opinion. Even Stiles knew it was a dangerous idea to scamper off with another werewolf without his owner’s blessing.

                “Uh—yeah, Stiles. That’s fine. If Scott doesn’t mind.”

                The Alpha grinned brightly in response. “Nah, man. Stiles can help me carry.”

                They drove for a few minutes, the dark interrupted by neon signs and streetlights. Stiles looked over at Scott, who was bopping his head to the radio and singing along under his breath. It was so endearing that Stiles kind of internally swooned.

                “Just ask me, man.” The Alpha wore a lopsided smile on his face, flicking his eyes from the road to the human’s.

                “What? Ask—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Even as Stiles said it, he cringed. Playing stupid was not a good look on him.

                Scott’s eyes crinkled as his smile grew larger, revealing dimples. “I can feel you staring at me every three seconds.”

                “Oh, that. Well…you’re a very attractive man.”

                Scott’s laugh was just as sweet as his smile. Ever since they met, Stiles knew that he liked Scott. It was impossible not to like Scott. While he wasn’t exactly scared of Derek anymore, he was relaxed with the Alpha in a way he couldn’t be with anyone else. They had just clicked, finishing each other’s thoughts sometimes in ways that made the rest of the pack look around questioningly. Undeniably, he trusted Scott more than any other Supernatural he had ever met.

                “Okay, I didn’t hear a lie. And while I’m really flattered, I know that’s not it. So just ask me, dude.” Scott quirked an eyebrow in his direction, and it was like the nice version of Derek’s same gesture.

                “Okay, okay,” Stiles caved. “I have some questions about potentially sensitive topics, and if I ask Derek, I think he’ll rip my limbs off and beat me with them to entertain himself.”

                Scott turned off the car once he found a spot in front of the pizza shop. He shifted in his seat so that he was facing Stiles.

                “I don’t want to go behind Derek’s back, but if I can answer it, then I will.”

                “I really appreciate this, Scott. I know you’re like potentially breaking dozens of pack-code rules right now. And I like Derek, sort of. I mean, living with him has been really good. But I just can’t stop thinking about it, and I need to know.”

                Scott seemed content to let Stiles ramble all night, patient and compassionate. “What is it?”

                “Argent. Does that name mean anything to you?” The Alpha’s reaction was visceral. His face drained of all its color, making his rich complexion look sickly and gray. Oh god, what could Derek have done to her that made Scott look so gutted?

                Stiles licked his lips and prompted quietly, “Scott. You okay?”

                Scott swallowed and lifted his eyes to Stiles’ face. They were glistening, threatening to spill over. Stiles put his hand on the Alpha’s shoulder and squeezed it. The teen’s voice was only a whisper when he summoned the will to speak. “Did he kill her?”

                Scott’s face faltered, crumpling in confusion, making the tears fall down his cheeks. “What?”

                “I know you’re pack, but if I’m in danger, I would like to know. What did he do to his last human?”

                “You think Derek hurt Allison?”

                Stiles kept his voice soft. As desperate as he was for answers, Scott seemed to be in pain, and he didn’t want to push any more than necessary. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.”

                Scott’s voice was thick, rough. “Derek would never do that. None of us would.”

                “Then what happened?”

                “…She died.” The words were strangled, and then Scott didn’t speak for a while. Stiles endured the silence even though it conflicted with his nature, the least he could do. When Scott did talk again, the normal cadence of his voice was gone, replaced with an emptiness and resignation that Stiles knew all too well. Recognized it from the parents in his Industry who returned from Auctions without their children.

                “Allison was the first human that Derek bought. A few years ago. I had been a wolf for about six months, still learning, and I didn’t know what it meant.” Scott’s breath hitched, and he knuckled the tears out of his eyes.

                “What what meant?” Stiles probed carefully.

                The Alpha sighed and dropped his head against the headrest. “The smell. She always had this sweet scent around her. I thought I might have been imagining it, but when I asked Derek about it, he got this look.”

                “Like he knew something you didn’t?”  

                Scott nodded before continuing. “I asked him so many times, but he would always shake off the question, change the subject.” The wolf pinned Stiles with his eyes, so vulnerable and open, and it punched the breath out of him. “He was trying to protect me. Knew how much I liked her.”  

                It was truly a test of will for Stiles to murmur his next words. “You don’t have to say anymore, Scott.” He wanted to know so badly, _needed_ to know if Derek was responsible. Stiles still really wasn’t sure what had happened to Allison, but he couldn’t bear dragging someone—especially Scott—through such agonizing memories.

                “It’s okay. You’re right. You deserve to know.” Scott gripped the steering wheel restlessly, just so his hands were occupied, and tried to regain his place. “She was sick. Don’t know if it was cancer or something else. You know hospitals hardly pay out for human treatment any more. My mom works at the local one, and she hasn’t seen an MRI or X-ray machine in years.” Stiles could believe it. Like everything else, the Medical Industry was geared towards the needs of Supernaturals, not humans. Basic services were available for humans in order to rehabilitate them enough so that they could continue working and attending to their Masters and Mistresses. Stitches, pain killers, antibiotics; they were all still provided. But intensive and long-term treatments were expensive and troublesome, and therefore, not offered anymore. One human dies, there’s always another to replace him or her. No harm, no foul.

                Stiles stumbled onto a terribly morbid thought, hoped it wasn’t true. “But if Derek had known the whole time, then…”

                “He bought Allison when she was already sick. At the Auction, he knew she was dying, and he took her anyway.” Scott laughed, a broken, weak little sound. “It’s probably the main reason he bought her, instead of anyone else. So she could die a little happier than she would have in some other place.”

                “I’m sure she was more than a ‘little happier.’ You know what it’s like out there in the Industries, Scott. How different other Supernaturals are from you and the pack,” Stiles reasoned.

                A ghost of a smile crossed Scott’s face. “I’d like to think she was happy…She was great with a bow. Grew up in the Consumer Industry, working at a weapons manufacturer. Her dad taught her how to use it, how to fight. Wanted her to be able to take care of herself.”

                Stiles didn’t know what to say. There were no consoling words to offer. It would have been insincere, disrespectful when  Stiles didn’t even know her. All he said was “I’m sorry.”

                “I know.” Scott’s smile was watery. “And I know we haven’t known each other long, but we consider you pack, Stiles. One of us. We don’t love lightly.”

                Stiles’ heart squeezed. “Were she and Derek…? Never mind. I’m sorry. That’s too personal.”

                “No.” Scott sounded far away, his focus temporarily on some other thought. “But she and I…Well, I still love her.”

                “I didn’t mean to dredge all of this stuff up. I-I didn’t think...” Scott cupped the back of Stiles’ neck and squeezed, assuring him that he wasn’t upset with the human.  

                “It’s okay. It doesn’t have to be all gloom-and-doom whenever I talk about her now. I wanna remember her, you know?”

                “Yeah, of course.”

                “Derek still blames himself for it. He thinks he should have done something differently or found another way.”

                The teen was speechless for a few seconds, and he felt his eyebrows furrow. “What could he have done?”

                “Derek offered her the bite. His uncle, Peter, is an Alpha and was still in Beacon Hills back then. He would have done it for Derek.”

                “She didn’t want it.” It wasn’t a question. Stiles could feel that truth slot into place, settle deep inside his bones.

                The Alpha stared out his side window for a few seconds, perhaps to hide his face from Stiles. “She said that she wanted to stay human…stay herself. And if that meant dying, then there was no other place she’d have rather been.” Scott pushed on almost immediately. Lingering on those last words was futile torture. “Peter bought out Allison’s father from his Industry. Last I heard from Derek, they were in France with the Alpha that turned me.”              

                “What about you, Scott? Did you want the bite?”

                “Not at first. Deucalion eventually convinced me, and in the end, I think it was the right decision for me.” Scott had bared his wrist, tracing over his tattoo with absentminded fingers. The strange name of his former owner was visible to Stiles, identical to Stiles’ own tattoo but for the sequence of letters. “When he left, I couldn’t go with him. I couldn’t leave my mom behind, not when I could finally take care of her. He introduced me to Derek so that I could learn how to control my new abilities, maybe even find a pack.”

                 “Looks like you found a pretty good one,” Stiles replied, looking at Scott from the corner of his eye. His brain was still processing the onslaught of new information from the last several minutes. He wouldn’t be able to look at Derek, or Scott, the way he had previously. He couldn’t un-know what he knew now.

                “We’re all so happy you’re here, Stiles. And Derek is happy, too, in his own way.” The Alpha smiled, but brighter this time, like he normally did. “We should probably get the pizza before the pack thinks you and I have eloped.”

                Stiles laughed half-heartedly, still feeling heavy and bittersweet from the turn their conversation had taken. “I don’t think Kira would forgive me if I did that.”

                “She would just run you through with her _katana_ , that’s all.” Stiles felt a palpable relief wash through him when the corners of Scott’s eyes crinkled again. Seeing Scott sad and miserable _did_ things to Stiles that he did not enjoy.

                “I would go in and get the food for you, Scott, but I can’t...” A flicker of recognition flitted over Scott’s face. 

                “God, Stiles, I’m such an idiot. I wasn’t even—”

                “Scott, it doesn’t matter. Really. Now go. Starving human here.” Stiles hadn’t even realized until Scott was inside that he had been barking orders at the Alpha since they had gotten into the car. Demanding things, speaking whenever he wanted. And Scott hadn’t seemed to mind at all, didn’t think of it as anything other than a conversation. It was wonderful, being able to forget about status and social propriety, if only for a car ride.   

                On the way back to the loft, Stiles held the pizzas securely on his knees, the boxes almost too warm against his jeans. He had never had pizza until a few weeks ago when the pack first pitched the idea. Stiles had eaten six pieces in a row and felt slightly sick afterwards, but he had never tasted anything so good before. No matter how great of a cook Derek was, it couldn’t compete with _pizza._

                The mood was lighter on the way home, and Scott had resumed his humming along to the radio. “You know, Stiles. Derek is a good guy. Once you get past the grumpiness and the forced words and everything. He would never hurt you, not if he could help it.”

                That night, Stiles looked at Derek with fresh eyes, saw someone who had lost and regretted and vowed to do better. Was that was Stiles was? A second attempt? A way for Derek to repent for Allison’s death by taking in another stray? He didn’t know, but it was better than worrying about Derek killing him if he became too annoying.

                Tonight, Kira was wedged between Lydia and Scott on the couch, while Malia sprawled across the recliner. That left Stiles and Derek leaning against the front of the couch, only inches apart.

                Somewhere in the middle of the movie, Stiles’ back started to get stiff. Malia proceeded to growl under her breath every time Stiles straightened up to try and find a comfortable position. The coyote had mentioned at some point that she was Derek’s cousin, and _oh did that explain things_.

                After constantly fidgeting for five minutes straight, the beta finally tilted his face towards Stiles with a sigh. “ _Stiles._ ” His name was being thoroughly used as a weapon against himself.

                “I’m sorry. I feel decrepit sitting like this for so long.”

                Derek whispered back, “Make one of them switch with you.” He cocked his head toward the three pack members on the couch.

                Stiles craned his neck to look back at them, a small bloom of affection warming his insides. Perhaps he should have been worried about how attached he was becoming, how much he liked all of these people. And yet, he couldn’t summon the energy to care. His belly was full of pizza, the movie was awesome so far, and he could practically feel himself radiating contentment.

                “No, they’re practically asleep.”

                Derek let out an even more pained sigh, like what he was about to do was Stiles’ fault. “Come here.” He raised the arm closest to Stiles in an inviting gesture. He probably only offered because everyone else was unconscious and would never believe Stiles if he told them. Maybe it was just a pack thing. Werewolves _were_ incredibly tactile and comforting with pack members. Maybe Derek really did think Stiles was part of his pack, like Scott had said.

                “I’m not waving down a taxi, Stiles. Are you moving or not?” The words were gruff, and the wolf’s eyebrows raised impatiently.

                Stiles choked a little on his own saliva as he swallowed and scooted closer to Derek until his head was leaning on Derek’s shoulder. It was not comfortable. The older man apparently agreed because he wrapped his arm around Stiles’ middle and hauled him in until their bodies were smashed together. The teen’s head slumped until it was resting over Derek’s collarbone, and that was actually much better.

                After adjusting Stiles’ position to his liking, Derek laid his arm back onto the edge of the couch cushion. Stiles had never been this close to the wolf for this long of a time, and he couldn’t help but notice things.

                Such as the fact that Derek smelled _good._ Like the unscented shampoo Stiles used, but other things as well. Possibly the outside air or the woods. Stiles knew that some mornings the wolf would wake up at an ungodly hour and run through the preserve nearby.

                And Stiles had never imagined how soft Derek’s beard would be, brushing against his temple. He wondered if Derek’s chest hair would be just as soft. That thought made his stomach tighten, a wave of _want_ pulling at him from the inside. This was really not the time to be thinking like this when he was within clawing distance of the subject himself. Surely, Derek’s tolerance only stretched so far.

                More importantly, Stiles didn’t want to ruin this. The wolf was firm and warm, and Stiles felt himself fitting into the side of Derek perfectly. He squashed down his tantalizing thoughts and just enjoyed the simple pleasure of Derek’s closeness. It didn’t have to be anything more than that.

                He wished he knew how the movie ended, but he had dropped off somewhere in the middle. He only woke up when he was being placed into his bed by a pair of strong arms. His eyes were bleary and mostly closed, too tired and comfortable to wake up entirely.

                Still, an impulse to become oriented made him reach out and clasp a warm hand. “Der’k?” he slurred as the covers were pulled up to his chest.

                “Everything’s fine. Go to sleep, Stiles.”


	7. Chapter 7

                Despite the last traumatizing visit, Derek had managed to coax Stiles out of the loft to go to the store with him. He had used bribery and coercion, stating that he might forget to grab what Stiles liked if the human wasn’t there to remind him.  

                They went to buy groceries after dinner. Derek usually did the majority of his shopping late in the evening when less people would be out “to get in his way.”

                In the parking lot, Stiles made sure that Derek was always ahead of him, that his head was always pointed towards the pavement. He didn’t want another scene, no confrontation with any random Supernatural, nothing. He was going to be on his best behavior and play the part of the exemplary human pet.  

                Derek stopped suddenly and turned to Stiles. “You don’t need to do that. It didn’t really work out last time, so you might as well just be yourself.”

                After the surprise wore off, Stiles tested it out to make sure he understood what the wolf was saying. “Master?”

                “Derek,” the wolf responded firmly, giving a nod of finality.

                Immediately, Stiles felt like a switch had been flipped inside of him. He dropped his shoulders and walked up to Derek’s side. If anybody in the parking lot noticed, Derek didn’t seem to care.

                “What if someone says something?”

                “Then I’ll remind them to mind their own fucking business.” Derek’s eyes flashed blue for a moment, and then he let Stiles enter the store in front of him for good measure.

                It was intensely liberating. Being given permission to dismiss proper human conduct in the privacy of the loft was one thing. To do it in public in front of dozens of Supernaturals was the equivalent of laughing at the very rules that defined their society. Stiles fucking _loved_ it. He practically preened when he saw shoppers watching him talk animatedly to his owner, calling him by his name, flailing his arms and hands excitedly. Their looks of horror only made Stiles smile wider, and Derek had even laughed with him quietly.

                When they reached the loft, bags of groceries in hand, Derek had insisted that Stiles go in first. The human had just thought that Derek was letting him bask in his glory a little longer. He was wrong.

                He opened the door and was greeted with screams.

                “Surprise!” Stiles had backed up into Derek, a solid, warm wall against his back. He looked back at the wolf in confusion and found a small smile on his lips.

                “What is this?” The pack was swarming in on him with smiles and laughter, and Derek gently goaded him inside so that he could close the door behind them.

                Before Stiles knew what was happening, Scott had taken the bags from his hands, and Lydia had pulled him into a friendly hug.

                “Happy birthday,” Malia wished, squeezing Stiles’ arm.

                Just like many of the other parts of society, Stiles was aware of what birthday parties entailed but had never experienced one himself. He knew these celebrations were one of the many originally human traditions that had bled into some Supernaturals’ lives.

                Stiles displayed his default expression, miming a fish, with his lips moving uselessly. Kira and Scott had sandwiched him between themselves and were hugging and kissing him until he was blushing.

                “You guys…I don’t know what—”

                “No, we don’t want to hear it. You deserve a party, Stiles, and you are going to have a wonderful time.” Lydia had somehow managed to express her love for him in a command and was lifting a perfect eyebrow to see if he would dare contradict her. He wasn’t that stupid.

                Scott wrapped his arm loosely around Stiles’ shoulders and deposited him on the couch. “Derek, told us when it was. And Lydia planned most of it. She has impeccable taste.”

                Stiles’ mouth was still gaping as he flicked his eyes around to his pack. “This is so thoughtful. Thank you.” The teen bled his heart into the last two words. He wasn’t sure how to express to them that he had never been able to have anything like this for himself.

                “We’re family, Stiles. No thanks are necessary.” Kira smiled at him, and Stiles nearly started another round of hugs. He didn’t want to let any of them go.

                “So cake or presents first?” Scott asked, waggling his eyebrows happily.

                “ _Presents?_ You’ve all already given me so much. I couldn’t—”

                “No excuses!” Lydia chided.

                Stiles’ heart was nearly _fluttering_. He was unused to this much attention, and while it sort of made him want to crawl out of his skin, it also made him feel significant, loved. “Cake, please.”

                “How did I know that you were going to pick cake first?” Malia snorted good-naturedly and went into the kitchen to cut the dessert.

                Scott was completely right. Lydia had exquisite taste. The cake was chocolate with some type of fudge and caramel layer in the middle. Stiles’ eyes had actually rolled into the back of his head at the first bite, and he had starting making those moaning noises he reserved for particularly delicious food. It wasn’t his fault. Derek was shooting him questioning glances but didn’t say anything. The rest of the pack had just giggled and teased him, Lydia beaming with the knowledge of a job well done.

                The others were gathering plates and cleaning up for the presents. Stiles had been explicitly forbidden to lift a finger, making him feel terribly guilty for letting the pack clean up after him. He listened to the clatter of plates and the running of water in the kitchen before turning to Derek.

                “How did you know? That today was my birthday?”

                “It was on your purchasing papers.”

                “And you remembered?” Stiles was dumbfounded.  

                Derek shrugged. “We celebrate everyone’s birthday. We wouldn’t leave you out.”

                Stiles was picking at his nails, daring to look up at Derek. “Is it because I’m…”

                “What, Stiles?” Derek prodded softly, stilling Stiles’ hands in his lap.

                “Am I pack?”

                When Derek didn’t say anything for several seconds, Stiles figured he knew the answer. Just because Scott and the others felt that way didn’t mean Derek did, or ever would. Pack dynamics were intimate, often incredibly influential to a wolf’s life. Although it stung a little, he could understand why Derek would be hesitant to accept a stranger into his pack.

                “Yes, Stiles. You’re pack. If you want to be.”

                “I do.” Stiles smiled softly, flicking his eyes to Derek, who nodded. “I know that saying ‘thank you’ eight hundred times will eventually lose its meaning. So, I’m just gonna…”

                The teen leaned forward and wrapped himself around the wolf, his heart pounding in his throat. He moved quickly before the indecision and fear paralyzed him. Hopefully, his birthday would give Stiles some sort of blanket permission to give Derek a quick hug and not be eviscerated.

                He slipped his arms neutrally around Derek’s shoulders, allowing himself to sink into that warmth for just a second before pulling away. He had felt the wolf’s hand at the small of his back, a fleeting touch. Overall, Stiles considered it a successful engagement.

                Stiles slipped Derek a small smile and moved a healthy distance away from him on the couch. A moment later, the rest of the pack returned to the living room, holding a small stack of presents.

                “Ours first!” Kira smiled widely and thrust a box into Stiles’ hands. Scott’s arms looped around her waist, and he set his slightly crooked jaw onto her shoulder to watch.

                The box was full of movies, some that the pack had watched with him and some that Stiles had never seen. Scott and Kira easily noticed Stiles’ penchant for superhero and action movies and an occasional good drama. They had covered all of their bases, getting him a few from each genre.

                Between gifts, Stiles was spouting endless appreciation and thanks, happy tears making his eyes glisten. He just felt so overwhelmed, so lucky right now.

                Malia had bought Stiles a flannel shirt that was soft and fit him perfectly when he pulled it on over his t-shirt. And Lydia had contributed to Stiles’ personal library, giving him two books. One was brand new, spine crackling when he opened the crisp pages. The other was obviously old, a favorite. Some of the pages were dog-eared, scribbled in, the cover heavily creased. It had definitely been one of Lydia’s own novels.

                And lastly was Derek. The wolf always stood back, waiting around the fringes of the pack until someone needed him.

                Derek had produced a small box seemingly out of nowhere and handed it over to the teen. Stiles looked up at the werewolf, big amber eyes framed by long lashes.

                Stiles could accept that Derek had remembered his birthday, had contributed to the planning of his party. But the human could not seem to compute that Derek had bought him a freaking present.

                He opened the wrapping paper with trembling fingers. But with good trembles, of excitement and anticipation and flattery because Derek had spent the time to _buy him a freaking present._

                “It’s a phone.” Stiles looked awestruck.

                “So you can keep in touch with the pack. Or if you need one of us.”

                “It’ll be great, dude,” Scott enthused. “We can put all our numbers in it, and then we can all talk whenever we want. Instead of just on pack nights.”

                “Derek, it’s-it’s perfect. Can you show me how to use it?”

                “Yeah, I’ll show you tomorrow.”

                When the pack left, Derek cleaned up the loft, giving Stiles the same threatening glare that Lydia had when he tried to help. Stiles resigned himself to sitting on the couch and watching TV, Derek’s movements in the kitchen a steady background noise.

                Derek came in a little later and sat next to Stiles. “Ready?” The teen nodded.

                Stiles was becoming more at ease with Derek scenting him every time the wolf did it. Much like the night he curled against the heat of Derek’s side, Stiles was comforted by the simple pleasure of Derek’s touches. Just appreciating the soft skin of his hands, the residual heat they left behind, how it made Stiles feel cared for in some strange way. He knew it was only to appease Derek’s wolf, to satisfy his instincts.      

                The older man seemed more relaxed with the scenting now as well. His hands ran over Stiles’ body with ease, not really looking, just feeling his way over bones and dips. It never took more than a minute or two. By now, Derek had formed a sort of technique with the scenting that always made it feel compulsory and slightly clinical.

                He started with the shoulders, pushing his fingers up inside Stiles’ shirt sleeves. He was adamant about Stiles keeping all of his clothes on during the scenting, even if it made it a little more difficult. The human could appreciate the lengths that Derek went to make him feel secure and protected. Next, the wolf worked down his arms, careful not to linger too long because he knew the sensitive skin inside Stiles’ forearms was ticklish. Then a broad swipe between the shoulder blades, down the spine, smoothing around the hips until Derek’s hands reached his stomach. The touch at his abdomen always made his muscles clench and quiver, but Derek never mentioned it if he noticed.

                Stiles had to give Derek credit. Despite his lacking social skills and typical brusqueness, the werewolf always did his best to make Stiles feel safe when he was close like this, when Stiles was so vulnerable. Derek never laughed or mocked or expressed any opinion about the scenting whatsoever.

                It always ended with a palm sliding up between Stiles’ pecs, careful to avoid his nipples—because Jesus, that had been one especially awkward night when that happened. Derek withdrew his hands from underneath Stiles’ shirt and pulled the collar down gently to make a haphazard brush over his collarbones.

                The first few times Derek had scented Stiles, he had used his hands on the boy’s neck like he did for the rest of his body. Stiles could sense his disgruntlement when he did it, his mouth pursing sourly. Eventually Stiles asked him about it, and in non-typical Derek fashion, the wolf pushed his face into Stiles’ neck, _nuzzling_ him. The teen remembered the rosy blush on Derek’s face, his mumbled apology, until Stiles had told him he didn’t mind.

                He might have left out the fact that he sort of _liked_ it. He was only human, and still a teenager, and Derek’s beard was soft, and his hair smelled nice and tickled over Stiles’ lips when the wolf was pressed into Stiles’ neck. Derek would rub his face softly against both sides of his throat, careful not to burn or irritate the skin. All the while, Stiles would be gripping the couch cushion with a fury, trying not to make a sound or let himself tremble.

                Derek pulled away and wished Stiles a happy birthday, the genuineness in his voice making Stiles smile like an idiot.


	8. Chapter 8

               Stiles was a fast learner. It had only taken him a few days to learn how to use his phone, and the pack was ecstatically texting him by the end of the week. Stiles knew what texting was now and everything.

                It was an incredibly convenient mode of communication. When Derek was away for long hours, he would send Stiles a blunt, one-worded text to check in on him. It would only ever read _Okay?_ , and Stiles would only ever reply with _Yes_. And when Stiles would wake up to an empty loft, with Derek on one of his runs in the woods, they would do the opposite. It was a strange game that they played, private and unmentioned. Derek would return to the apartment, and neither one of them would say a word about it.

                In the car, Stiles was drumming his fingers against the back of his phone, keeping it with him at all times as Derek had insisted. Even though they had never had a problem on any of their previous visits, Stiles could never relax until he was face-to-face with his father. He couldn’t shake the worry that they wouldn’t be able to find his dad or that something had happened to him. It just so happened that this time, his worries were justified.

                Once they reached the floor of his dad’s quarters, the same guard as before let them into the apartment. Derek and Rodriguez had managed to come to some sort of truce, most likely because the guy wanted to keep all of his limbs attached. The guard made sure to keep his distance from Stiles, and in return, Derek smothered all of the growls that he was dying to let out.

                When Stiles found his father in the back room, the man looked unwell. His coloring was dulled, and he seemed more worn and ragged than usual. Derek had stopped to lean against the doorway as he always did—trying to maintain some semblance of privacy for Stiles and his father—as the teen practically sprinted to his father’s side.

                “Dad, are you alright? You look terrible.”

                His father sat up, struggling, and leaned his back against the wall. He summoned a tired smile and greeted warmly, “Hey, kiddo.”

                Stiles placed a hand on his father’s shoulder and dipped his head until their eyes met. “What’s wrong?”

                “Nothing, son. I’m just a little tired. Rough day at work.”

                “Dad _,_ you’ve always been a terrible liar. Tell me what’s wrong.”

                The man sighed and turned his eyes to the ceiling, the look on his face suggesting how much he would regret his words after he said them. “Now, Stiles, I don’t want you to worry. All I need is a good night’s rest, and I’ll be fine. My chest just locked up on me today a little bit. I lost my breath for a few minutes, that’s all.”

                “Oh, god. Has it happened before? How long has it been going on?” Stiles’ heart was spiking sharply. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears, feel the pulse in his head. The only thing that kept him from teetering over the edge into blind panic was that it would only stress his dad further.

                “This was the only time. It was probably just the heat. I’ll be fine by tomorrow.” Stiles was swallowing back his tears and anxiety.

                “I missed your birthday, kiddo. Nineteen, look at you.” His father smiled again, holding Stiles’ face in his hands. Stiles collapsed against his dad, gripping him tightly, feeling his tanned, sturdy arms hug him back. “It’s alright,” his father cooed softly.

                Stiles only pulled away when he felt a touch to his shoulder. It was too warm to be his dad. He turned around to face Derek, who promptly dropped to his knees next to him.

                “Stiles, I can make him more comfortable, if you want. If that’s okay with you, sir.” Derek had pointedly looked at Stiles’ father.

                “ _Yes,_ please, Derek.” Stiles knew he sounded like a wreck, pathetic, but he couldn’t worry about that now.

                His father looked between his son and the wolf, before his eyes settled on Derek. “I don’t want you hurting yourself now, Derek. I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

                “I’m pretty resilient, sir. It wouldn’t be any trouble.” After a few moments of consideration, the father relented and nodded his head.

                Stiles watched Derek wrap a hand around his father’s forearm. For a few seconds, nothing happened, and then dark tendrils starting snaking up Derek’s arm. The pattern was intricate and deliberate, and the teen realized the trails were actually Derek’s veins, coursing with pain. All those toxins polluting his blood, surging back to his heart to be burned out of the wolf’s system at an inhumanly fast rate. He remembered reading about it in the book under his pillow at the loft. How werewolves could elect to take pain from others, to the point of death or demotion of power.

                His dad’s face became more relaxed as the seconds drew on, the barely suppressed grimace no longer right under his features. When Derek released him, the older man’s chest was rising with even breaths.

                “Thank you, Derek.” His dad spoke gruffly but not unkindly.

                That night, when Stiles’ dad chased him away, the teen hugged his father for a long time. Promised he would be back, like he did every visit. It was becoming impossible to leave his dad behind with each elapsing week.  

                Derek pulled him to the side of the hallway when they left the apartment. He didn’t say anything, but Stiles knew he was checking the state of the damage. Leaving was often a struggle for Stiles, although he hadn’t suffered an attack in weeks.

                “His heart’s bad, Derek. I can’t leave him here.” Neither one of them spoke on the car ride home, and Stiles merely squeezed Derek’s arm before heading to his bedroom when they got to the loft. At times like these, Stiles was incredibly grateful that he didn’t need to explain himself to Derek. The wolf already understood. He knew from the gesture, from that simple touch, that Stiles needed to be by himself. He would give Stiles as much time as the human needed, never crowded the boy, never asked anything from him.

                Right now, Stiles needed to think. Derek’s uncle had been able to pay out the Consumer Industry  for Allison’s father, and Scott’s mom lived with her son even though she was still working in her Industry. Both adults, beyond the Auction, leading completely different lives from the majority of other humans. Derek had helped both of them escape a typical human fate; he could do it for Stiles’ father. He just needed to give Derek an incentive. An offer enticing enough that Derek wouldn’t be likely to refuse. Stiles needed time to decide his strategy.

* * *

                Launching into action only a day later might have seemed rushed, but Stiles didn’t want to leave his dad alone any longer than he had to. Especially when his middle-aged father would still be working a dozen hours every day with a shaky heart. The sooner, the better.

                The pack wasn’t stopping by tonight and in the evening, Derek had decided to run to the store. He was usually gone for an hour at the most, but that was plenty of time for Stiles to prepare himself.

                He couldn’t afford to think too critically about his offer. There wasn’t room for indecision or embarrassment. Stiles was putting all of his faith and energy into this plan, and if it didn’t work, he would just have to come up with another. But he was hoping that this one would stick.

                When Stiles heard the door of the loft open, his nerves intensified into nausea and full-blown anxiety. He needed this so desperately to work.

                Derek actually dropped the groceries onto the floor when he saw Stiles, making the teen absentmindedly hope that he hadn’t bought any eggs. He could only imagine the picture he made.

                Stiles was sitting on the edge of Derek’s bed, wearing nothing but his underwear and one of Derek’s shirts. He had searched through the wolf’s clothes, trying not to touch and leave his scent everywhere. He knew that wearing Derek’s clothing was at the least _suggestive_ to a werewolf, and at the most, a cruel manipulation of the scenting process. Stiles had found an old battered shirt, full of holes and torn away from the collar on the one side.

                Stiles wasn’t completely naïve, knowing what he knew about wolves and Derek’s wolf in particular. There was no chance of Derek’s human side being enticed, so he was counting on the inner werewolf to submit to the temptation. Stiles was bathed in Derek’s scent, the ragged shirt showing peeks of pale stomach and back and collarbones. He was sitting on Derek’s bed, the most personal and _private_ part of Derek’s loft. A place that Stiles had never breached, where his scent had never been incorporated until less than an hour ago.

                The human didn’t need to be a wolf or a Supernatural to know that this was a violation. He was forcing himself on Derek’s wolf, practically screaming for the beta to reassert his ownership. It would be jarring for Derek, the abruptness and bare temptation of the whole situation.

                “ _Stiles._ ” Derek was already snarling, growling whole-heartedly. “ _What_ are you doing?”

                Stiles didn’t move. He didn’t want to needlessly provoke Derek any farther. “I have a proposition for you.”

                “Get out—”

                “I can’t, Derek. I need you to listen.” The wolf was only a few feet from Stiles, savage growls ripping from his chest. His claws were visible. _Good._ His wolf was already rising to the surface, recognizing an opportunity. Stiles was terrified, but it didn’t touch him. It was pushed to the back of the human’s mind with the knowledge that Derek would probably shred him apart for this if he didn’t accept. And maybe even if he did.

                Stiles couldn’t blame him. He was egging Derek on, goading him to lose his control, to submit to his wolf’s instincts. There would definitely be consequences.

                Derek had allowed the interruption, too furious to even speak, and Stiles pushed on. “I need you to buy my father, and I know it’ll cost you. If you do it, I’ll give you a-anything…I’ll let you do… _anything_.” Stiles emphasized his words by parting his thighs, spreading his legs open wider from where he still sat. Despite the calculated quality of his words, Stiles was blushing madly, heart hammering.

                Derek had partially shifted, a sight Stiles had never seen before. It wasn’t just the claws and fangs now. His ears were pointed, hair growing out from his jowls and cheeks, the ridge of his brow and nose becoming prominent. And those eyes, glowing, _piercing_ bright blue. Obviously, Stiles had always acknowledged Derek was a werewolf, but he had never truly _felt_ it until this moment.

                “Are you _insane_?” Derek was full-out screaming, with such intensity that Stiles felt the words rattle his bones.

                “Derek, it wouldn’t have to be bad. I could please you, and I know that you would take care of me…it doesn’t have to be bad.”

                Derek strode forward and pulled Stiles up by the ruined collar of his shirt. The scream had died down to a murderous whisper, Derek’s fangs only an inch or two away from Stiles’ face. “Go upstairs and get the fuck out of my sight.” Violent exhales shot from the wolf’s flared nostrils, and he shoved Stiles away so hard that the human stumbled.

                Derek didn’t even wait to see if Stiles moved. He stormed into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him with enough force to shake the frame.  

                Stiles shut himself in his room, sinking onto the bed. The rejection itself was a fleeting sting. Derek’s refusal to save his father, however, was debilitating agony that sent him into a panic attack almost instantly.

                He clutched Derek’s shirt in a death grip, pulling the fabric against his face, so he could inhale the scent. Hot tears were spilling down his face, and he hated himself for recognizing how Derek gave him focus, calmed him down. It took endless minutes, the stitch in Stiles’ side tender and aching.

                He tore Derek’s shirt off in a frenzy, pulling on his own clothes and his favorite purple hoodie before tunneling into his bed. The covers were pulled tight over his head, making a stifling, quiet burrow. Stiles had detachedly noted a crash from downstairs at some point during his attack. Since then, there had been silence.

                The tears were still running down his face seamlessly. He couldn’t remember feeling so low before. An amalgamation of disgust, hatred, pain, fear, insecurity sitting heavily in his head and his heart and his gut.

                Stiles needed to figure out another way. Derek wasn’t unreasonable. There had to be something that would motivate him. And yet, Stiles didn’t want to face him, couldn’t bear seeing Derek again right now.

                But every second spent hiding up in his room felt like a gamble with his father’s life. Time was running out, and it was making Stiles absolutely enraged. He felt like he was being torn in two different directions with the end result being his complete and utter immobility.

                It was all too much, the gravity of the situation swallowing him until he saw nothing but blackness. Stiles fell asleep, his brain welcoming the unconsciousness. It offered him a brief reprieve from reality, acted as a temporary method to cope with the circumstances that were threatening to wreck him down to his foundation.

                He didn’t wake to a knock on his door, and he didn’t wake up by himself. His eyes flickered open, dazed, disoriented, when a hot hand pulled the covers back and broke the seal of the sweltering heat underneath. Cool air licked at the sweat on Stiles’ skin, near his temples, under his clothes.

                He shoved himself so vigorously away from Derek that he nearly fell off the other side of the bed. The wolf was sitting there on the edge, ominously quiet.

                Stiles’ first thought was that Derek had changed his mind, decided to take him up on his offer. Maybe Derek could sense the small burst of hope from Stiles because he growled menacingly.

                “We need to talk. Right. Now.” The words were unnervingly soft, unbearably stern. They only encouraged the tangle of nerves inside of Stiles. He was, in no way, about to speak until Derek told him to. The wolf had been pushed far beyond his limits already.

                “I’m so fucking _angry_ with you, Stiles.” With Derek’s back to him, the human could hear his voice shaking in rage. “What the _fuck_ were you thinking?”

                Stiles didn’t answer until Derek turned to his side, pinned Stiles with his eyes. That devastatingly beautiful face was severe, pulled tight. It was hard to think a smile had ever graced that face.

                “I needed a favor from you, Derek. Something I had no right to ask for.”

                “Then why didn’t you just _ask_? Do you have any idea what you did, the way you were playing with all of my primal instincts?”

                Stiles’ eyes squinted in defiant disbelief. “I didn’t have anything else to offer you, Derek.”

                “But you didn’t _want_ it.” He could feel the venom behind Derek’s words.

                “It wasn’t about what I wanted.”

                The wolf huffed harshly, squeezing his eyes closed for endless seconds. Stiles waited patiently, barely breathing, frozen in place. His glance met pale hazel eyes.

                “Have I ever given you a reason to think that I would take advantage of you like that? That I would ever cross that line at all?” Derek was gritting his teeth the entire way through it, obviously engaging in a conversation he never wanted to be having.

                “No, it wasn’t you. I was beyond desperate. He’s my father, Derek. All I have left. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him.” Derek’s eyes left his and focused on the carpet beneath them.

                “I’ll do it, Stiles.”

                Stiles’ heart raced wildly, to the point where hyperventilation was becoming probable. The boy was crying again, hands biting into the comforter underneath him. Jesus, he was a mess. Those couple words from Derek could literally make or break him.

                “Derek—” His voice was barely recognizable, strangled.

                “In return, don’t do anything like that _ever_ again. For anyone.” The sharp tone of his voice practically made Stiles recoil.

                But at the same time, Derek had just said that he would help Stiles’ father. The boy nodded vehemently until he felt like a ridiculous bobble-head. “When?”

                “I’ll go tomorrow. See what I can do.”

                Stiles didn’t dare say ‘thank you.’ Even though Derek was doing something so enormous for Stiles, something so monumental that the wolf probably couldn’t even comprehend it. Stiles couldn’t think of any words strong enough to express his gratitude. So he stayed silent.

                On his way out, Derek stopped at the doorway, brushing his fingers along the frame. “I need you to stay up here the rest of the night. It’s not a punishment. I just need you to.” Stiles nodded to Derek’s back, sensing that the wolf somehow felt it because he left a moment later.

                The most important thing, the thing that overshadowed the awfulness of the night was that his dad would be safe soon. And hopefully, Derek wouldn’t hate him or hold his actions against him for too long. It would pain Stiles to think that the tentative friendship budding between them had been permanently snipped.


	9. Chapter 9

                The following days were even more awkward than when Stiles met Derek. Mostly because there was a reason for it to be awkward now. Offering your body to a grumpy werewolf to use as his personal pleasure slave was not a great building block for a friendship.

                After the first night, Stiles was spending an unhealthy amount of time in his room. At first, he was too nervous to face Derek and wouldn’t come down to meals. He had waited until Derek was asleep to grab something from the kitchen, stomach growling so loudly he had probably woken the werewolf anyway. Eventually, Derek started knocking on his door for meals like he used to. When Stiles refused as politely as possible, Derek muttered tersely, “Stiles, you need to eat.” The human would trail down the stairs a minute later, slinking into the kitchen chair and hunching in on himself in the hopes of disappearing. No such luck.

                It was even worse because Derek was all naturally taciturn and the food was so damn good. Stiles barely spoke except to ask about his father. Meanwhile, Derek would answer all of his questions civilly but was no more forthcoming either.

                “Do you think it’ll be possible? To take him out of there?” Stiles kept his eyes on his plate, voice soft. He hadn’t realized that after the incident he might not ever be able to look Derek in the face again. Especially when the werewolf had been so blatantly repulsed. It wasn’t exactly flattering.

                “It’s just a matter of money. In general, humans aren’t strictly accounted for within the Industries through paperwork or records. And in their ignorance, the Supernaturals don’t exactly care if one more human goes missing. It’ll be easy to get him out. I’ll just need to pay off a few guards. It’s not even illegal, really, to buy out a human. It’s just that most Supernaturals don’t feel like spending the money for older humans.” The food soured in Stiles’ mouth. Of course, no one would want the older humans. They couldn’t work as long or as hard, weren’t as supple or as limber. Stiles was just becoming more and more sickened with the whole situation.

                “When’s the earliest he’ll be able to come home, do you think?” Stiles’ cheeks tinged pink when he realized he said ‘home.’ Internally, he sighed because this whole perpetual embarrassment thing was exhausting.

                “We settled on a price yesterday. I’ll meet back with him, and he’ll tell me when and where to come get your father. Should be a few days at the most.”

                Stiles’ breath fluttered past his lips in a noisy combination of a sob and a laugh, and then he was smiling like a lunatic again. “Okay. Good.” He shoved a spoonful of food into his mouth so that he wouldn’t say anything else stupid.

                “You know that your father can’t stay here, right?” Derek was actually looking straight at him now, and it was a little startling.

                Stiles felt himself deflate, and he knew it was greedy of him to think that he could have everything, but he didn’t care. “No, no. Stiles, that’s not what I meant. I talked to Scott, and it seemed like a better idea to have your father live with him.”

                “Scott’s mom lives with him, too, right?”

                “Yes, and there’s a spare bedroom at his house. And Melissa is a nurse, so she could monitor your father’s condition. He only lives about ten minutes away, so you could see him as much as you wanted to.”

                “That sounds really good.” Stiles needed to remember to hug the life out of Scott the next time he saw him.

                Stiles cleaned the kitchen and retreated to his room. It was too uncomfortable to sit in the living room or kitchen and wait for Derek to randomly pass by. Stiles knew it was his fault—he knew there would be consequences—but he couldn’t suppress the desire for things to be the way they were before.

                Until the other night, they had been watching TV together, reading together, freaking snuggling during pack nights. Sometimes, there had even been playful banter. And now, they hardly interacted with one another, and when they were together, the whole room felt cold and lifeless. The only thing that could make this better was time, and even that wasn’t a guarantee.

                When the pack came over to hang out and watch movies, they all felt the change. Stupid Supernatural senses. Or maybe it was just really obvious. The pack was acting shifty, flicking glances between the two of them all night.

                When Derek went to the kitchen to grab a drink, Scott dropped down onto the couch next to him. “What’s going on with you and Derek?”

                “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Stiles stared at the television screen with forced interest.

                “Stiles, I didn’t even need to listen to your heart to hear that lie.” The Alpha quirked his eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

                Stiles relented, but only because he would be indebted to Scott for the rest of his life. “We had a fight. Sort of. Not really a fight, more of a misunderstanding.”

                “And?” Lydia had popped up on the other side of Stiles.

                “Oh my god, Lydia, you can predict death. Don’t you know that when you do that, you risk giving me a heart attack?”

                The strawberry blonde flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Cute, Stiles, but stop deflecting.”

                Stiles looked at the floor sheepishly rather than at the wide, expectant eyes of his pack members. “We’re…still working it out. I kind of messed up. Went about something the wrong way.”

                Scott gripped his shoulder sympathetically, and they changed the topic before Derek came back into the living room.

                Only then did Stiles realize he had been set up. He could detect the scheming on every single one of them, with their faux-innocence and deceitful friend faces. They had made sure that Stiles was sitting next to Derek throughout the movie, everyone quickly sitting down and leaving the last two spaces for himself and Derek. Terrible, manipulative friends with their sacrilegious game of musical chairs.

                For a moment, it looked like Derek considered standing instead of sitting down next to him, and Stiles felt the burn on his face, wanting nothing more than to sink into the couch. It was official, the wolf hated him. After long, painful seconds, Derek sat down, looking as relaxed as a plywood board. Stiles was equally tense, pulling his limbs in close to himself to ensure that there was a buffer of space between himself and Derek.

                They made it halfway through the movie before Malia grabbed the remote and paused it, inciting cries of outrage from the rest of the pack.

                “There’s something going on with the two of you, and it’s _exhausting_. Your tension is bleeding into the rest of the pack; we can all feel it.”

                Both Derek and Stiles looked faintly ashamed, crossing their arms defensively.

                Kira unwound herself from Scott’s lap and stood up. She was wearing a cautious smile, speaking gently like she did. “Malia’s right. It’s just, you two obviously need to talk about it.” The fox was looking at her other pack members for support.

                “The bad vibe between you guys is kind of affecting the rest of us. So, we’re just going to leave and let you figure things out.” Scott left the pair with a sympathetic smile, and the rest of the pack followed him out of the loft.

                Which left Stiles and Derek alone, doing their best impressions of inanimate objects, until Stiles broke the silence.

                “Do you hate me?”

                Derek’s head jerked up. “What? No, Stiles.”

                “I’m not exactly proud of myself. And I know now—that you’d never be capable of doing something like that. I was offensive and manipulative, so I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me.”He was playing with his hands, staring intensively at his lap. The thought of looking at Derek and seeing nothing but disgust in return was too much.

                “I understand why you did it, and I’m not blaming you for anything. I know I said I was angry with you, but I wasn’t. It was just—the thought—the idea of somebody using you like that. It was maddening.” Derek’s own eyes were pointed safely at his lap, and Stiles only needed to take a peek to see the pained expression on his face. How it pulled at the corners of his eyes and mouth.

                “I want things to be the way they were before. I know that’s selfish of me, but we were in a good place before I ruined it.”

                “Stiles, you didn’t ruin anything. And after the lot you’ve been granted in life, you can afford…to be a little selfish.” Derek had gritted his teeth towards the end, rubbing at his knuckles with silent displeasure.

                Similarly, Stiles couldn’t stop the fidgeting of his hands and gripped the material of his jeans. Finally, he looked up at the wolf and caught his clear hazel eyes. No malice or contempt in them anywhere.

                “We’re friends?” Stiles asked tentatively.

                Derek lifted one eyebrow. “We’re _pack._ You know that wolves don’t pick members lightly.”

                Stiles nodded bashfully, a bloom of warmth unfolding in his gut. He did feel like _pack_ , from the way Kira and Scott and Lydia and Malia treated him. But it was nice to know that Derek still felt the same way, too.

                He peeked another look at the wolf, who just rolled his eyes. It was a good sign, _normal_ for them.

                “Do you want to finish the movie?”

                A small, helpless smile crept over Stiles’ face. It surprised him how relieved he felt to know that things were good between Derek and himself. “Yeah. Um. Please. I would really like to finish—the movie. That’s all I want to finish. Nothing else.”

                Thankfully, Derek showed him mercy, sighing in exasperation before pulling Stiles against his side. The teen was not about to put up a fight as he sunk into the wolf’s warm body, feeling the flex of muscles underneath his cheek while Derek moved to get comfortable.

                It wasn’t long after Stiles unpaused the film that he felt a hand slip under the back of his t-shirt, making him startle.

                “Scent-marking?”

                “Is that okay?” the wolf asked, his hand frozen in the middle of Stiles’ back, pressing hot against the curve of his spine.

                “Yeah, yeah. This is good.” It was actually amazing. Werewolf heat was awesome, the best perk of living with a wolf. And with the way Derek was tenderly rubbing over his skin, nuzzling against him, it was like getting a massage under an electric blanket. He felt cozy and heated and lethargic, definitely more relaxed than he had been in days.


	10. Chapter 10

                Stiles’ dad was released two days later. Derek came into his room at some horrendous hour in the morning and tapped his shoulder. The human woke in a frenzy and nearly smacked him in the face by accident.

                Once the flailing limbs were under better control, Derek kneeled down next to him. “Your dad just got to Scott’s house. I figured you’d want me to wake you.”

                Stiles’ mouth tasted horrible and thick, but he croaked out, “ _Yes_.”

                “Get dressed then, and we can help Scott and Melissa get him settled in.” Aside from still being half asleep, Stiles possessed the grace of a platypus on a good day. So naturally, he almost fell out of bed from being tangled in his sheets and then changed with such ferocity that he nearly strangled himself. Derek stood aside, watching as he always did with Stiles: in faint amusement and with slight horror.

                Scott’s house really only was a ten-minute drive away, in the suburbs at the edge of town. Not massive, but definitely roomy enough for the three people now living there. His father wouldn’t even know what to do with that much open space.   

                Derek gave a perfunctory knock, perhaps just to let the McCalls know that they had arrived, before walking into the house. Scott met them in the front hallway next to the stairs, looking just as bleary-eyed as Stiles. Still, even tiredness couldn’t dampen the sweet smile on his face.

                “Stiles, my mom’s helping him upstairs.” The Alpha dragged Derek into the kitchen with him after calling out, “Just go right up, man.”

                Stiles took the stairs two at a time. He passed the first room off the hall, probably belonging Scott’s mom, based on the subtle décor and tidiness. A bathroom on the opposite side of the hall, and then voices coming from the middle bedroom.

                The human braced himself at the doorway, panting from the stairs and his racing heart. A middle-aged woman with dark curls and the same deep chocolate eyes as Scott was talking to his dad while the pair spread sheets over the bed.

                Melissa looked up when Stiles paused in the doorway, her face filling with a smile. “You must be Stiles. Scott keeps telling me about you.”

                A second later, his dad turned around, no longer wearing the drab, threadbare clothing of a worker, but normal clothes. His eyes squinted, like when he laughed or cried or smiled or was especially frustrated with his son. Right now, Stiles wasn’t sure which of the emotions was behind the gesture.

                “ _Stiles.”_ He was pulled into a bone-crushing embrace, holding onto his father with tight, aching fingers. “What did you do?” His dad’s voice was tight with emotion as he palmed the back of Stiles’ head.

                “What I had to. You thought I would just leave you there?” He was laughing as tears slipped over his cheeks, feeling beyond ecstatic. _Euphoric._ Knowing that his dad was the safest now that he would ever be.

                His father was grinning, eyes crinkled and glistening. He kissed Stiles’ forehead and then sobered up slightly. “Son, tell me you didn’t endanger yourself by doing this for me.”

                Stiles shook his head. “No, no. Dad, it was Derek. And Scott and his mom, of course.” He flashed a grateful smile to Melissa over his dad’s shoulder. “They wanted to help.”

                He was roped into another hug. “I couldn’t ask for a better kid. I couldn’t,” his father finished softly.

                “I’m sorry I couldn’t warn you ahead of time. Derek said the guards would be less likely to give you trouble if they thought you were clueless.” Stiles could only imagine how overwhelmed his father was, having no idea where he was being taken in the middle of the night or why. A worker’s life was based on routine, the same thing every day. It had to have been terrifying to have that reliable predictability suddenly torn away.

                Stiles’ father held him at arm’s length and scrunched his forehead. “Does Derek do this often?”

                “He did the same for me. After Scott was turned and still barely had any money.” Melissa had just finished dressing the bed. She rolled the previous, stale sheets into a ball and tucked them under her arm.   

                Only when Stiles pulled away from his father completely did he notice the cellophane wrapped around his dad’s forearm. Like with any human who switched Industries or transitioned between an Assistant and a worker, tattoos were added chronologically, marking from the wrist up towards the elbow. The simple black image of a house was still visible on his dad’s wrist, but the name of his new owner was now right above it, still hidden under its wrappings. Melissa bore the same pair of tattoos, although her wrist was covered by a solid black plus sign.  

                Stiles’ glance snapped between the two adults before landing back on his father. “Are you a Hale, like me?” After all, it had been Derek’s money that had released him.

                “No. He’s a McCall. Scott and Derek figured it was best to legally register him under our name since he would be living here.” Stiles nodded. It made the most sense for the paperwork. Anyways, he and his father still shared a name in the way that mattered most.  

                Melissa added, “I figured you’d be exhausted, Mr. Stilinksi, so rest first, and then tomorrow I can do a few basic tests to get a baseline health status. Does that sound okay?” Melissa truly fit the part of a Med, especially since she was still decked out in her mint scrubs.  

                “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. And call me John, please.” His dad offered a thankful smile to the Med, who returned it easily. Perhaps they shared it a little longer than necessary.  

                The three of them went downstairs and met Scott and Derek in the kitchen, both wolves already nursing a cup of coffee. The only one who seemed immune to the early hour was Scott’s mom, who was probably so used to shift work and sleep deprivation that she was completely unfazed.

                Derek poured three more cups of coffee, and they all settled in the kitchen, drinking and yawning.  

                Stiles had slumped against the counter, watching the curls of steam rise from his coffee with painful intensity, summoning up the will to break the tired silence in the kitchen.

                “I just—” Heads flicked up from their cups, and Stiles swallowed down the sudden attention focused on him. “I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am, to all of you.” His pack looked back at him, their weary expressions softened with affection.

                Stiles’ father clapped him on the shoulder. “We both are.”

                They finished the whole pot of coffee.

                By six o’clock, they were all yawning, and Melissa had to leave for her shift in a few hours. Stiles hugged his father goodbye for too long, but it wasn’t painful like it had been before. They lived so close now, and his dad wouldn’t be working himself to death from dawn to sundown.

                Stiles was exhausted but too keyed-up from the excitement to fall asleep on the car ride home. He couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face. God, he felt so good.

                Derek seemed to sense that there was no way Stiles was going back to bed because he started to pull things out to make breakfast.

                “Oh. I can make myself something if you want to go back to sleep.”

                The wolf shook his head and started cutting vegetables for omelets. The silence between them right now was easy and light. Even for Stiles who could ramble to Derek for several minutes until the wolf looked hopelessly lost. It was just nice sometimes…to hear nothing but the sounds of their feet padding softly against the kitchen floor, the noises they made together in the mornings.

                Words were a little difficult right now anyway, with Stiles’ emotions making him feel high and tender and untouchable all at the same time. If he tried to thank Derek, he wasn’t actually sure what would come out.  

                He loped up to the wolf’s side, pulling plates and silverware from the cupboards. Derek twitched in surprise when Stiles squeezed his upper arm, a fleeting gesture of gratitude, the best he could offer without proclaiming another redundant “thank you.” The wolf’s mind must have been somewhere else because it wasn’t often that Derek was caught off guard. Derek calmed and relaxed under his touch, his hot palm sliding over top of Stiles’ hand for the barest moment.  


	11. Chapter 11

               “Stiles, are you going to tell me what’s on your mind or are you going to continue pacing holes in my floor?” Derek’s eyes followed him, his head dropping against the back of the couch in surrender.  

                The teen stopped in his path and spun around. “I’ve only been awake for four hours, Derek,” Stiles exclaimed, his eyes practically bugging out of his head, like he couldn’t understand why Derek wasn’t as concerned over his words as he was.

                “Your point?”

                 “There’s not enough dirty clothes to do laundry, all the dishes are done. And I tried to clean the loft but you only have three pieces of furniture and cement floors so it only took ten minutes.”

                Derek snapped his book closed and sat up. “Stiles? I have no idea how to translate whatever you’re trying to express right now.”

                “There’s nothing to do!” Stiles cried before slapping his hand over his mouth. “That’s not what I meant—Well, it was, but I didn’t mean for it to come out so rudely.”

                Instead of cutting Stiles’ ramble short like he normally did, the wolf smiled. “You lasted longer than I expected.”

                “ _What_?”

                 “You’re bored?” Derek lifted his brows, not in anger or indignation. Just asking.

                Stiles nodded hesitantly, folding his arms around himself. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Derek was testing him; if so, he had probably answered incorrectly.  

                “Stiles, you went from working—what? Twelve-, fourteen-hour days, every day, since you were a child. That urge—to always be doing something, to stay busy—it doesn’t just go away, especially not after a month. I’m not surprised you’re going stir-crazy, considering how naturally…hyper…you are.”

                Stiles decompressed, his shoulders dropping back to their natural position. “Well, it sounds so obvious when you say it like that,” the teen admitted begrudgingly. “Were you just waiting for this moment? For me to finally catch up?” Something about that notion was a little hurtful to Stiles, tugged at his heart until it stung.  

                “I wasn’t going to throw it in your face, if that’s what you’re suggesting.” Derek’s features became pinched, as if he had felt the same sting. “I was just letting you do what you wanted, even if that mostly involved watching TV and eating an obscene number of pudding cups.” Derek threw in a fond smile at that point. “I didn’t think you wanted anyone telling you what to do anymore.”

                Jesus, it was hard to feel hurt at all with Derek being so considerate and _right._ In fact, Stiles was starting to feel like a brat, complaining about having too much free time. Two months ago, he would have begged on his hands and knees for one day off from work.

                “It was a dream, really,” Stiles assured. “Just hanging out with you and the pack and not doing much of anything in between. But I can’t help feeling like I need to do something different now, something more.”

                “So, what do you want to do?” Derek was the picture of his ease, his elbows resting on his knees, letting his hands hang loosely from his elegant wrists.  

                The human scowled and moved his hands to his hips. “It’s not that simple.”

                “Yes, it is.”

                “…Derek, it’s stupid.”

                Derek crossed his arms, a smirk playing at his lips. “So you have something in mind then?”

                “I can’t ask you for any more favors. Especially not just to satisfy a hobby,” Stiles gesticulated wildly. “I already mooch off of you shamelessly and do nothing for you except eat all of your food.”

                In an instant, the wolf’s face sharpened, making Stiles pause. “That’s not true. You keep me company and help me out…I’m happy that you’re here.” While Derek’s words were complimentary, they came out like a threat, daring Stiles to tell the wolf he was wrong. “And I don’t care about the money. Tell me what you need, and we’ll get it.”

                The teen curled one leg under himself before sitting on the cushion next to Derek. “I’ve kind of been itching to get back into woodworking.” He flicked his eyes up to Derek’s face before dropping them quickly back into his lap. He couldn’t contain the waves of self-consciousness crashing and sloshing inside of him, shooting spurts of blood up to his cheeks and his neck. “Isn’t that ridiculous? After everything that’s happened, I want to go back to doing the same thing I did before.” Stiles scratched the back of his head. He didn’t even realize he had been jiggling his leg manically until Derek steadied it with the firm press of his hand.

                “It’s not stupid if you enjoy it,” Derek urged. “Look at Scott, Melissa. Neither one of them have to do anything related to their Industry anymore, but they still do. Melissa’s still a nurse, and Scott works with the local vet. They’re healers; it’s what they grew up with, and it’s what they know. You don’t have to turn your back on that.”

                “It’s different for them. Their work is important.” Stiles knew he was being stubborn, but he couldn’t understand why Derek  was willing to humor him. Woodcarving wasn’t exactly an essential service; it was a project or a hobby. The teen had only mentioned it because he didn’t think Derek would take the idea seriously. He certainly hadn’t expected him to be this insistent.

                “Why does one have to be better than the other? You have a unique skill set, Stiles, one that many other people don’t have. That makes what you do valuable.”

                Stiles shook his head. “I don’t know, Derek—”

                “Tell me about it.” Derek’s demanding eyebrows rose expectantly.

                “Are you serious?”

                “You were an Architect. What did you do?”

                “It’s not that exciting,” Stiles explained, his face crumpling in puzzlement.  

                Derek sighed. “So, bore me then.”

                Under Derek’s unrelenting gaze, Stiles could only stutter for a few seconds. He just ended up shrugging, knowing that the wolf could match him in stubbornness.

                “Well, we start work around the age of five, doing small things.” Stiles wiggled his fingers in front of himself anxiously, trying to find his words. He had never really had to describe this to anyone else. After all, the only people he really knew until a few months ago were other Architects. “Like cleaning up sites throughout the work day. Collecting scraps and nails and tools. Sorting and dumping. We do that for a few years until we can handle bigger jobs.”

                Derek’s brow furrowed, like he was actually interested, blinking those sweeping eyelashes a few times. “Like what?”

                “I spent about four years—wait, no…yes—laying sidewalks for the town and for houses. Moving wet cement is brutal. Cracking up old concrete with sledgehammers is even worse.” Stiles closed his eyes, rubbing over his temples absentmindedly. “Then furniture making. That was my favorite. Sometimes the tables or chairs needed carved, and my dad would let me help him. The younger kids like me usually just cut the pieces and assembled them, or did the staining and sealing, but I got a decent amount of carving practice in over five years. Supervisors usually let me take home chunks of scrap wood, and I would make figurines or little designs for the kids in our quarters—they never cared how bad they were. But my dad’s still a lot better at it than me.”

                When Stiles paused, Derek said, “You did that until you were sixteen-seventeen. What’s left?”

                “Until the Auction,” a dark shiver rolled through Stiles at the mention of the event, “I was building the wooden frameworks for houses. It’s still better than cement work, but it’s an outside job. The heat gets pretty intense when you work non-stop for hours. You can understand why I was so worried about my dad.”

                Derek nodded, silent for a few seconds before saying, “So, woodcarving?”

                Stiles dropped his head forward onto the wolf’s shoulder for a moment, groaning. “God, it sounds even more absurd when you say it.”

                “I like it,” Derek countered with a mischievous smile, something that sparked a little burst of longing in the boy’s belly.

                “Okay, Derek, the fact that you cannot see the multitude of logistical obstacles related to this idea is concerning me. I’m pretty sure you’re like the poster boy for practicality.” Stiles could feel his eyes twitching, squinting with incomprehension, his arms whipping around in the air to emphasize his bewilderment.    

                “What’s impractical about it? I might need you to make me something one day.”

                Stiles released an obnoxious laugh that made the wolf’s mouth purse sourly. “Your whole apartment is metal and concrete. You don’t like wooden furniture, Derek.”

                Derek rolled his eyes in the way that strongly suggested Stiles was an idiot and then exhaled a long-suffering sigh. “You could sell whatever you make, Stiles. There are places in town that will buy pieces from people who don’t want to sell them themselves.”

                “What would we do with that money _if_ I even made anything good enough to sell? You’ve made it pretty clear that you already have more money than you want.”

                “It wouldn’t be _our_ money, Stiles. It would be _yours_. You could do whatever you wanted with it.”

                Stiles adjusted his legs, crossing them in front of his body since they had started to turn warm and numb. “Where would I work on anything? It’s messy, with wood shavings and sawdust getting everywhere. And annoying, the constant grating and cutting, especially for your wolf-y ears.”

                “There’s an empty room on the floor below. You could work there.”

                Stiles couldn’t stand the stillness any longer, how damn casual and relaxed Derek was about this. It was making him twitchy. He started pacing again.

                “Derek, we can’t just hijack another room. What if your landlord found out?” 

                The sound of Derek’s laughter, like, genuine laughter, wrenched Stiles to a stop. The wolf’s white teeth were exposed, for once, without the intent of threatening or intimidating someone. They were kind of dazzling. Once Stiles had recovered from the sound of Derek’s laugh, he started to feel like the butt of a joke.  

                “I own the building, Stiles.”

                “You own—the whole building? Exactly how much money do you have?—Never mind, I don’t want to know,” the teen declared, raising his hands in the air.  

                Derek rolled on, acting like his admission meant nothing. “I could give you the spare key. The place would be yours to use whenever you wanted.”

                “But Derek,” the human was gazing open-mouthed at the wolf, “like the entire building?”

                “Yes, Stiles. The whole building,” Derek confirmed with slight irritation before grunting, “When did you want to go?”

                “You want to go right now?” Stiles couldn’t deny that his heart had tripped in excitement before evening out again.

                “No, I’m asking when _you_ want to go. But you did say you were bored.”

                “I merely implied it,” Stiles mumbled. He could see Derek huffing in aggravation, so he added quickly, “Let’s go now, please?” His cheeks lifted high and taut with his grin.

* * *

                From what Stiles could tell, the store contained a hybrid of home improvement and hardware products. Once the teen decided what materials he needed, Derek led him to the appropriate departments of the store.

                They traveled to the lumber section first, receiving the odd look every now and then since they had completely abandoned the pretense that Derek was in control of Stiles. There were towering shelves of wooden beams, plywood, pre-made columns, blocks, and boards in a wide variety of colors, sizes, and shapes. Stiles was in heaven. Meanwhile, Derek looked a little lost, which the human found hopelessly adorable. He bit his lip to hide his smile and started scanning the labels.

                “Do you know what you’re looking for?” Derek asked.

                “Um. I need blocks for sure, probably in a few different dimensions. Pine’s okay. But I’m looking for…here, basswood.” Stiles pulled a block about the length of his forearm from the shelf, his fingers wrapping around its palm-sized width soundly. The wood was light beige and dense, a comforting weight in his hands.

                “How do you know which to choose?” Derek extended his hand for the block of wood, turning it over and over to examine it.

                “Well, for carving, soft woods are better for amateurs, easier to work with. Basswood’s very soft, fine-grained. Plus, I like the color.” Stiles offered Derek a small smile before turning back to the shelves.

                He could sense a blush working its way up to his cheeks, with the way Derek had looked at him. Like he was extraordinary or impressive. Stiles shook the thought from his head, plucking a few 2 x 2 x 2-inchcubes from the wire racks on the lower shelves as well as a few thick, rectangular blocks.

                “Could you help me find some cherry? I only need one block in that size.” Stiles pointed to a shorter, thick block in the cart while Derek approached the shelves to start searching.  

                “This is nice,” the wolf commented once he found a sturdy chunk of the dark, rich wood.

                Stiles nodded happily. “Yeah, it’s beautiful, especially when it’s stained. It turns nice and glossy.”

                “Do you still need some pine?”

                Stiles made a gagging noise. “No, pine was a last resort. I’m sick of pine. That’s all we used for frameworks. A little spruce, maybe some fir, but mostly pine. Lots and lots of pine.”

                The last thing they picked out were the tools. The teen was unsure which gouge size he would need, so he just bought a pack that looked like it had all the basics: a small carving knife, U- and V- shaped gouges of various depths, and a few chisels of varying sizes. He also snatched a smaller and larger mallet, a can of polyurethane, and a portable, electric sander. 

                In the elevator, Derek pressed the button for the floor below them so that they could unload the bags. It didn’t make sense to drag them to the loft only to have to move them back downstairs later. The wolf produced a master key from his pocket, although Stiles had no idea where Derek kept any of the keys for his _tenants_.

                As they were setting the bags down near the door, Stiles asked, “You know, I’ve never seen one of your tenants before.” Derek looked back to cast a prompting glance that begged _so?_

                “Derek, do you even have any tenants?” Stiles’ forehead scrunched in thought. “Are we the only ones living in this building?”

                The wolf ignored him completely, unlocking and sliding open the door to the apartment. Stiles was sure Derek had still managed a good eye roll though.

                When they entered the barren apartment, Stiles actually gained an appreciation for the little bit of decorating and furnishing that Derek did in his loft. Because it really made a difference. The interior was nearly identical to the loft, with a large open space, and a kitchen, bathroom, and closet connected to the main room. The chief difference was that there was no spiral staircase in the far corner that would lead to a second floor.

                The empty room sort of felt like a concrete and brick tomb, but Stiles could appreciate it as a space to work, if not to live. It would be quiet and easy to clean, lots of space.

                Derek leaned against the wall and let Stiles unpack all of his new materials to his liking. They would bring down one of the spare chairs from the kitchen and the metal table that Derek used for nothing more than to hold a lamp. The human thought it was kind of perfect, actually. At that moment, Stiles could feel the excitement bubbling almost palpably inside of himself. It would be refreshing to return to something from his past that wasn’t just a bad memory.


	12. Chapter 12

                A couple weeks ago—actually right after the first full moon—Derek had bought a calendar and marked the nights of the full moon with a dark, little sickle-shaped moon in the bottom corners. Then he had pinned it to cork side of the end cupboard so that Stiles would know when Derek was getting extra wolf-y. Naturally, Stiles had thought it was the cutest thing he had ever seen and teased Derek about it.

                Stiles pointed out that Derek was defeating the whole purpose of the “full” moon by drawing a crescent. To which Derek replied with absolutely no humor that it would just look like a black circle if he didn’t make it that way. Stiles continued to giggle about it that whole first day until he realized that Derek had eaten the last piece of leftover, double mushroom pizza after Stiles had called dibs. Derek didn’t even like mushrooms. The teen didn’t bring up the calendar again.

                Sipping a glass of juice, Stiles looked at said calendar, each page having a different version of the night sky on it. He didn’t really need to look. After last month, he had started counting the days in his head to keep track. Not to mention that Derek started telling him every day a week before the full moon.

                He went back to sit at the table when he heard Derek scraping food onto their plates. There was no coffee that morning which was strange because Derek _needed_ his morning coffee.

                Stiles stretched to see what was in the wolf’s mug, but Derek swiftly captured it and pulled it out of his reach. He arched a dark eyebrow towards Stiles in question.

                “Is that tea? Tea is supposed to be soothing, and you usually prefer to be tense.”

                As expected, Derek didn’t even justify the comment with a response. He merely took a sip of his _tea._

                “It’s just tea, Stiles. Relax.”

                “Fine, fine.” Stiles showed his palms in surrender and started eating quietly. He could only stand the silence for about six seconds before he bounced up from the table. He saw the carafe sitting off to the side of the counter and decided that tea could be nice. He loved to have something warm him up during the chilly mornings.

                Stiles pulled out another mug, and Derek caught his wrist a second later. “Stiles, you can’t drink any…There’s wolfsbane in it,” he added reluctantly.

                “Why is there wolfsbane in our warm, delicious breakfast beverages?”

                Derek rolled his eyes. “You know that tonight’s the—”

                “—the full moon. Yeah, I remembered. It’s only the nine hundredth time you’ve reminded me. What I don’t understand is why you’re drinking wolfsbane tea?”

                “It’ll keep me…mellow tonight.”

                “You mean it’ll weaken you. Derek, it has to be painful ingesting this. Why are you doing it?”

                Derek sat back down at the table and started stabbing aggressively at his food. “Stiles, last month was not a successful trial run. I’m going to do better this time.”

                 Stiles sat back down, too, in the hopes of gently coaxing an explanation out of the wolf. His voice was calm when he asked, “Derek, what are you talking about?”

                Those kaleidoscope eyes flicked up to his for a moment. “I got too close. I never should have been anywhere near your room. It was a lapse in my judgment. I thought I would have better control.”

                Stiles’ eyes widened incredulously. “You didn’t do anything. I didn’t feel threatened at all.”

                Derek must have sensed a blip in his heart because his expression darkened, and he began poking at his food even more grumpily.

                “Okay, okay. I did at first. For like three seconds, but I was just surprised. It was my first full moon. But after that, it was good. I was happy to distract you.”

                “That’s not your responsibility,” Derek snapped. 

                Stiles’ eyes narrowed. “And what is my responsibility, Master?”

                Derek’s jaw stopped working mid-chew; in fact, he started to look sort of nauseous. He rubbed his hands over his face until they pushed through his morning bed head, making it resemble sex hair even more than before.

                He sighed. “Stiles, I’m sorry.”

                Stiles moved his hand across the table slowly, so as not to spook Derek who was pressing his forehead into his grasped hands. The boy’s fingertips just barely brushed the soft hair of Derek’s forearm, telling the wolf that he wasn’t mad or hurt. Touch always worked the best with wolves, Stiles was realizing.

                “I know. But I’m pack,” Stiles was becoming increasingly confident every time he said it, “so you can’t expect me not to care.”

                “Can we do this my way for now? We’ll see how tonight goes, and then we can figure out how we want to handle next month.” Stiles might have been glowing inside every time Derek said “we.” Like they were a team. Or partners.

                Stiles nodded in concession and slumped back into his chair. “Do you have to drink it?” he murmured quietly.

                “It’s diluted enough that it doesn’t hurt. It’s more like…eating spicy food. It burns my mouth a little bit, but the tea still tastes good.”  

                They settled back into a relaxed silence for the remainder of breakfast. Stiles had even convinced Derek to watch a movie with him since they had hours to kill.

                One movie might have turned into three, but Stiles wasn’t going to say anything. Not with the way Derek tucked him into the warmth and firmness of his side. During pack nights, everyone was laying on everyone, the whole group constantly touching and cuddling. He got it; aside from just being nice, it helped with the bonding.

                But when it was only the two of them, Stiles couldn’t help but feel a little special that Derek still allowed him to be this close. He knew it was ridiculous, so he never mentioned it.

                He might have gotten a little too comfortable, with Derek’s body heat radiating and one hand placed on his lower back to keep him close. With Stiles’ body bent, the back of his shirt had risen enough that some of Derek’s fingertips were pressed against his bare skin.

                The teen then closed his eyes and started fixating on the least sexy thoughts possible so that Derek’s nose wouldn’t be traumatized. Sometimes, werewolf senses were such a bitch. Stiles literally couldn’t hide anything—lies, sounds, smells, feelings. Derek could only do so much to give Stiles privacy, but the wolf couldn’t force himself not to notice what his senses were telling him. Hopefully, if Derek did notice, he would just chalk it up to teenage hormones.

                Somewhere in the middle of his desperation and de-lusting efforts, Stiles forgot to open his eyes again.

                He woke up to a tickling at his cheek, jerking a little before he realized that it was only Derek patting him gently. A moment later, Stiles had snapped himself into alertness. Derek looked strained, and his eyes flashed blue once before returning to their hazel color.  

                “Stiles, time to go.”

                “Are you alright?” Stiles unwillingly peeled himself away from Derek’s hot side, feeling the cooler surrounding air instantly draw the heat from him.

                “I’m okay. Just starting to feel a little uneasy. C’mon, upstairs.”

                Derek helped Stiles up from the couch, his legs wobbly and mostly numb from being bent for so long.

                “You need to shift, don’t you?” Stiles looked behind himself to catch Derek’s curt nod. The wolf followed him up the stairs to his room and stopped at the threshold of the doorway.

                “You have plenty of food in here? Everything you’d need?”

                Stiles sat on the side of his bed, which was meticulously made out of habit. “Derek, it’s already eight o’clock. It’s not like I’m going to be locked in here for days. I’ll probably just read a little and then go to bed.”

                The wolf nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. He looked uncomfortable, like his skin was too tight for him to fit properly in his body. His eyes were flickering blue again.

                “Go. Let your inner wolf scamper around. I can tell you want to. I’ll be fine up here.” He offered Derek a gentle smile before making shooing motions with his hands. Honestly, Stiles was more worried about Derek than anything else, and the man, as usual, was being ridiculous.

                Derek just sighed. “Lock the door. Just in case.”

                “Oh my god, Derek. I already have one dad.” There were some departing grumbles from the wolf before he closed the door and went downstairs.

                Stiles changed into his pajamas and slipped into bed. He wouldn’t be able to fall asleep for at least a few hours, so he pulled a book from off of his nightstand and curled up until he was comfortable.

                The house was so quiet he couldn’t help but wonder what Derek was doing downstairs. For an hour, Stiles made a valiant effort to read, but he kept repeating the same paragraph over and over until finally snapping the book shut.

                The full moon was starting to make him as restless as it was Derek. He wasn’t worried about Derek, exactly. He knew that he was in no danger. It was just senseless that they were both sequestered to different floors of the house when Stiles knew that Derek would be completely fine around him on the full moons. The teen didn’t exactly like the thought of Derek having  to rearrange his life because Stiles was a delicate human.

                Maybe a small part of Stiles thought that Derek might misconstrue things. Stiles had blatantly stated before that he didn’t think any of these measures were necessary. The teen wasn’t afraid of him, and he definitely didn’t want Derek to think that.

                Stiles spread-eagled on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, straining his ears to pick up any noise from downstairs. Nothing. He listened so intently that he started to hear an imaginary buzzing within the silence.

                He decided to make Derek breakfast tomorrow morning since the wolf seemed to enjoy it last time. It was the first and only time Derek had ever gotten up after him, and the only time Stiles had been able to do anything that resembled taking care of Derek.

                He remembered how the wolf had stumbled out of his bed that morning, half-naked and blurry-eyed. His hair thick and messy and raven-black, matching the dusting of chest hair and the teasing trail under his navel.

                That familiar pull deep inside Stiles’ abdomen made him shift his legs, open his thighs a little wider. He closed his eyes and saw the carved cuts of Derek’s hips, his thick eyelashes, the dimples at his lower back when he stretched inside the cupboard to grab a mug for his morning coffee. Stiles clenched his fingers around the bed sheets, his heart picking up as he struggled with his indecision.

                He was too uneasy to do much else besides lay there, and the idea only became more and more tempting as the seconds ticked by. Previous circumstances had never really allowed him to do anything outside of the shower because he always felt like Derek would know.

                Between the locked door and Derek’s preoccupation with the full moon, Stiles would probably never have such an opportunity again. He could feel the anticipatory pulses in his cock, a low-grade arousal simmering under his skin.  

                He luxuriated in a stretch before spreading his legs farther. Stiles rucked his shirt up to his armpits and set his palm against his belly. He had started to feel unsure, a little ashamed that he was half hard from thinking of Derek. It felt like taking advantage.

                He shook his head, dismissing the doubts that were creeping inside. Everyone had fantasies. Stiles didn’t need to feel guilty. He would find something to cover the scent when he was done, and Derek would be none the wiser.

                For a minute, Stiles just laid in the silence, feeling his muscles relax one after the other. He took a deep breath and bit into his bottom lip, slipping his hand lower until it brushed through the course hair around the base of his dick. The stiff waistband of his jeans prevented him from getting a better angle, so he started to pull them off, feeling the heat gather in his cheeks, excited.

                As soon as he pulled down his zipper, he thought he heard a thump from downstairs. He froze, barely breathing, listening for noises. After waiting a full minute, his hand still stuck down the front of his underwear, he continued and pushed his jeans down to his knees.

                The cool air brought goose bumps out on his skin, made him shiver and roll his hips. He moved his hand down to his cock and squeezed himself gently through his underwear, sinking his teeth farther into his lip, exhaling sharply.

                There was a jarring thud from downstairs, and Stiles knew he did not imagine it this time. Without even thinking, he wrenched his pants back up to his hips and nearly sprinted downstairs.

                When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he slowed down, his heart pounding. He had remembered Derek’s warning that running was never a good idea in front of werewolves.

                His eyes scanned the room manically, and his stomach dropped when he saw the wolf. Breath heaving in his chest, hands squeezing nervously, Stiles moved slowly towards one of the large support columns at the edge of the living room.

                The thudding turned out to be Derek smacking the back of his head off of the column in frustration, snarling and fighting at the restraints that corded around his bare torso. He must have been struggling for a while because the ropes left behind angry red and raw trails, the skin tight and hot and swollen around them.

                “Derek?” Stiles whispered, ceasing all motion when the man refocused all of his attention from his binds to Stiles. He must have really been preoccupied and suffering to not even hear the teen get so close.

                Stiles’ presence didn’t exactly make anything better. Derek glared at him, blue eyes glowing bright like two alien suns, and he shifted violently into his beta form. Canines slipped over his lips, his brow and face restructuring.

                “Stiles.” The growl was fittingly non-human. Derek gnashed his fangs together and groaned before slipping back into his human form, panting heavily.

                Stiles was cautiously moving closer. “Derek, why can’t you maintain your shift?”

                The wolf was looking at him with fury, nostrils flaring between his labored breaths. “Get back upstairs _now._ ”

                Stiles pushed away the command, could see that Derek was barely in control of his senses. He settled on the cement a foot away from Derek, wincing at the rope burns along his skin.

                “Jesus, what have you done, Derek? Did you soak them in wolfsbane or something?”

                Derek swallowed. “Stiles, please. _Please,_ just go back upstairs. I’ll be fine.”

                Stiles’ eyes widened in disbelief. “Yeah? And how are you going to get out?”

                “I’ll be in more control tomorrow when the full moon ends. I’ll be able to get out. Or you could do it. You’ll be in no danger tomorrow.”

                “I’m in no danger now,” the teen exclaimed. “This is absolutely ridiculous, and I tried to do it your way, but not anymore.”

                Stiles pushed himself to his feet and scoured all of the drawers in the kitchen until he found a pair of scissors and disposable gloves.

                He came back and kneeled by Derek’s side, despite the warning growls and snarls coming from the wolf. “Goddamnit, Stiles. Don’t.”

                Stiles reached out with his gloved hands and turned Derek’s face to his. Derek looked worn, his eyes washed and ethereal in his pale, sweating face.

                “Were you coming for me?” the teen asked. Derek looked terrified for a moment before nodding.

                “It’s a full moon, and you just wanted your pack. There’s no point in secluding yourself like some dangerous animal. You haven’t done anything wrong.” Stiles brushed a thumb over Derek’s cheek before moving back to the ropes, his face set in determination.

                The blades of the scissors chewed through the rope gradually, and it snapped when they finally broke through the last fibers.

                “How did you even tie these so tightly by yourself?” Stiles mumbled discontentedly. He took the lone end of the rope and started to pull it gingerly into a loose coil in his hands.

                Derek was surprisingly still and cooperative, maybe trying to avoid any more pain. Stiles kept one hand on Derek’s skin while he pried the rope away, trying to be as careful as he could.

                He didn’t want to think about it, but somehow it kept crawling back to surface. How hot and solid Derek felt under his hand, the flex of his stomach and chest while he breathed. Stiles pushed it down as best he could; if there was ever a time to not be thinking about this, it was now.

                Sore, gouged marks circled the wolf’s wrists where the ropes dug deeply and mercilessly. Stiles cursed to himself when the binds stuck to the skin with sweat and fluid from small blisters. Derek had only grunted softly, but it was a stabbing pain in Stiles’ chest.

                Derek had done this for him.

                “Okay, I’m going to go throw these away and get you some water. Stay there.”

                He made sure to push the ropes deep into the bottom  of the trash where Derek wouldn’t touch them accidentally and then removed his gloves like Meds did, inverting them so that contaminated outside was tucked inside.

                Quickly, he filled a glass of water from the tap, anxious to leave Derek again. Which was ridiculous because the man was two hundred pounds of solid werewolf. But still.

                When he returned to the living room, the only thing sitting at the foot of the column was a pile of cloth, more specifically, Derek’s sweatpants.

                A few feet away stood a midnight-black wolf with blue eyes. Stiles felt a tremor of fear before remembering that this was still Derek, just with some parts rearranged.

                The wolf was stepping forward slowly, eyes never leaving Stiles. The teen took a step back, he couldn’t help it. He had his own instincts.

                Derek snarled then, his lips raising to bare shiny, slick teeth.

                “It’s alright,” Stiles reassured, his voice faint. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m gonna stay right here.”

                The wolf started padding closer again, and Stiles didn’t know if Derek could even understand him. He didn’t know what it was like when Derek was a full wolf. In beta form, Derek was still half human, but now, he was all animal. The thought made Stiles’ heart flutter nervously. He wasn’t scared; he _wasn’t._ Just unsure. He was in unexplored territory right now, and he was allowed to be a little wary.  

                An idea came to him. He bent to set the glass of water off to the side, inching forward while Derek’s keen eyes followed every movement.

                Stiles dropped to one knee, and Derek growled warningly. The wolf didn’t like not knowing what the human was up to. Stiles shut his eyes and pushed on, until he was sitting on his legs, his palms opened upward on his thighs. A perfect picture of submission from a human to a Supernatural, his head hanging low and vulnerable.

                After the night Stiles had propositioned Derek, the teen swore never to knowingly coerce Derek through his wolf’s instincts ever again. It had been a gross violation. So Stiles didn’t bare his neck, like a pack subordinate would. But he could do this, just to show Derek that he wasn’t a threat, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

                Stiles was still and patient, waiting for Derek to make the next move. He heard the clack of claws on the cement and the _whuff_ of breath from the wolf’s muzzle.

                A cold nose pushed at Stiles’ downturned cheek, and he raised his head. Derek proceeded to nudge the boy’s shoulder with the crown of his head.

                “That’s right. It’s just me,” Stiles cooed. “Are you hurt, Derek? You shifted too fast for me to see how much damage the wolfsbane did. Probably had been dying to shift for hours.” Stiles sighed and raised his hands in front of Derek’s face.

                “I’m just going to take a look, okay?” The wolf watched him, cocking his head as Stiles crawled to his side. The wolf remained accommodatingly still while Stiles placed a tentative hand on his flank.

                The fur was shiny and thick and healthy, just like Derek’s hair. Stiles pulled the dense coat apart and examined the pale skin visible underneath. He couldn’t find any marks.

                “Did you heal that fast?”

                Derek apparently had had enough poking and prodding because he abruptly loped across the room and hopped onto his bed.

                Stiles picked up the abandoned glass of water and set it on Derek’s nightstand. He would probably want it in the morning when he was less wolf-y.

                “Do you want me to go?” Derek growled, suggesting his displeasure.

                “Do you want me to stay? I mean, I could just hang down here in the living room and make you watch all the TV shows you hate because now you have no fingers to steal the remote from me and change the—”

                In a flash, Derek had leapt off of the bed and trapped Stiles’ shirt in between his teeth, pulling him with annoyed huffs of breath.

                “Oh my god, how are you still so snarky?” Derek dragged him to the edge of the bed before springing back onto it and making himself comfortable.

                “Wait, Derek. This is your space, and I respect that. I don’t want to—I wish you could tell me this is what you want.”

                Derek made a high whining sound that made Stiles’ heart melt a little. “Point taken, but that was a low blow. How could I possibly deny you anything when you do _that_?”

                Tentatively, Stiles crept up onto the bed, like he was entering sacred ground. The bed would smell like him in the morning. He just hoped that Derek remembered giving his permission. He settled rigidly onto the side of the bed that was closest to the windows, unsure of what to do.

                A moment later, a mass of werewolf collapsed next to him—well, really half on top of him, one arm and leg hopelessly crushed under the warm, furry body next to him.

                Stiles didn’t know what possessed him, but he moved his free hand to Derek’s head and scratched behind his ears, the short hairs bristling under his nails. He pulled away suddenly, wondering if Derek was going was going to bite his hand off for being so patronizing.

                But, no. He _whimpered_ and made the noise again until Stiles resumed the scratching. Then the sound transformed into a deep rumble.

                “You’re purring,” the boy remarked incredulously, laughing to himself. Derek’s pride forced him to let out a half-hearted snarl.

                “Right. Canines don’t purr. It was definitely just a moody but satisfied grumble.”

                Stiles’ hand drifted from the wolf’s head and made a long stroke along his back, where the fur was silky and soft. God, Derek was always so warm, wolf or human. His happy rumbles continued, and it was soothing for Stiles to keep petting him.

                “’m just gonna stay until you fall asleep. ’kay?” The words were a little slurred, with half his faced crushed into the pillow. 

                The werewolf made a soft grunt of recognition in return.            

                Before Stiles fell asleep, he murmured, “Don’t do that to yourself again, big guy. No more.”

* * *

                Oddly, the thing that really struck Stiles when he first woke up was the smell. The scent around him was familiar but unexpected. Stiles’ pillow in his bedroom always smelled like a mix between his shampoo and detergent and the natural oil and sweat from his hair. He was spending too much time around wolves and their scent preoccupation.

                The odor crawling into his nostrils was not that smell. And that was when his sleep-fuzzy brain computed that he was not in his own bed. Stiles twitched awake a second later, his heart hammering in disorientation.

                He turned to his right and was blinded by the morning sunlight pouring in from the wall of windows. Stiles was downstairs, still in Derek’s bed.

                The boy dropped his face into his hands, mantras of _oh god_ repeating in his head. He cast a glance over his shoulder, praying that Derek was still asleep so he could make a semi-dignified escape.

                The breath was punched out of him, and his mouth dropped open into a silent, devastated groan. They had both fallen asleep on top of the covers, Stiles’ clothes disheveled and wrinkled.

                Meanwhile, Derek was naked. Completely naked. Because his sweatpants were still sitting in a gray pile on the floor of the living room.

                Stiles felt the blood collect in his cheeks, his breath stutter hopelessly. He couldn’t look away, as much as he knew he should.

                He had obviously known that Derek was beautiful, but the sight before him was positively breathtaking. Desire and adoration pulled tightly in his chest, made his mouth dry.

                His eyes were absorbing the image greedily, committing it to memory. If Derek woke up now and caught him, he would have no defense.

                Dark, coarse hair covered Derek’s legs but softened and faded towards the tips of his thighs, where the firm swell of his ass began. Full and _biteable._

                Stiles tried to swallow, but he couldn’t generate enough saliva. His eyes lingered on the smooth planes of skin and muscle in Derek’s back, the slight protrusions of his shoulder blades. He couldn’t help but smile at his messy hair, thick and silky and the same texture as his wolf’s fur.

                This was wrong. So wrong. It was horribly ironic that while Derek was in the position of power, Stiles was the one disrespecting the wolf’s privacy at practically every turn.

                He needed to get up immediately and make Derek the most incredible breakfast of his life as a form of apology. He scooted to the edge of the bed and almost had one foot on the floor when Derek latched lightning-quick onto his wrist.

                “Stiles.” His voice was a gravelly growl.

                “I fell asleep on accident. I-I was only going to stay until you fell asleep, but you were all furry and warm and cuddly, and it was very distracting.”

                Somehow Derek managed to make his nonchalance about his nudity seem violent as he whipped a sheet around himself. Stiles slipped backwards off of the bed, moving farther away from Derek’s space.

                The wolf had the sheet cinched around his waist as he padded over to his abandoned sweatpants on the floor. Stiles resolvedly kept his eyes on the floor, feeling his cheeks heat up with more shame and embarrassment every second.

                Derek moved back towards the bed, his nostrils flaring, his chest rising with angry breaths. Even though Stiles knew that Derek wouldn’t hurt him—he _knew_ it, _believed_ it in his very core—the way Derek was glaring at him right now, the rage visible in his strained muscles, made Stiles anxious and uncomfortable. And although he didn’t want to admit it to himself, a little afraid.

                So when Derek made a step towards the other side of the bed, Stiles instinctively took one back. The teen wanted to run, he did. He wanted to hide himself from Derek’s harsh stare, his blatant frustration and disapproval. But he couldn’t move, his back pressed up along the wall of windows, the glass warm underneath his palms.

                “What are you doing?” Derek’s voice was disturbingly even, low. He was more of a predator now than Stiles had ever seen him. His gaze intent and unwavering on the teen, muscles flexing with each purposeful movement, hinting at their underlying strength. He looked deadly and severe and gorgeous, and Stiles could barely breathe.

                “What do you mean?” Stiles blurted, his voice tight.

                “You keep moving away,” the wolf noted casually, trailing the tips of his fingers along the bottom of the bed as he moved closer.

                “I just…um…wanted to give you some space. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. You have to believe me.”

                “Do I have to? Really?” Derek chuckled with absolutely no humor. It made Stiles' blood run cold, his stomach churn.

                The man’s pale eyes turned upwards to look into Stiles’. “Are you sure you didn’t mean to, Stiles? Maybe you were just trying to tempt me, see how far you could push me before I finally snapped.”

                In a flash, Derek was in front of Stiles, making the boy jump. His voice cracked when he pleaded, “No, Derek. I promise, it was just an accident. I wouldn’t—”

                Derek gripped Stiles’ arms, pulling him away from the wall and closer to his body. Stiles could feel the radiating warmth, the burning heat of Derek’s hands through his hoodie. The grip wasn’t painful, but it was alarmingly tight.

                Derek had never touched him roughly like this. Stiles’ heart rate spiked, and he knew that Derek would hear it, would know that he was nervous.

                “Tell me, Stiles. Do you have a death wish? Because at every fucking opportunity, you keep trying to test my control. What do you want?—” The wolf pushed him back into the windows, making them rattle within their frames, while he crowded closer, exhales loud and fuming. “Do you want me to fucking tear you apart?”

                Stiles’ breaths were coming quicker, and he gasped, “Derek, you’re scaring me.”

                “You should be fucking scared,” he hissed, shaking the boy who was still in his grasp.

                “Derek, stop.” It wasn’t the most forceful command, what with the way Stiles’ voice rose three octaves, but it did the trick. Derek released him like he was burning, and his face turned red with shame and frustration as he turned his back on the teen.

                Stiles felt cold without Derek’s body so near, his hands trembling and his body feeling jittery. Just a little adrenaline rush. He swallowed and pushed himself gingerly off of the wall.

                There was a pregnant pause before Derek spun back around, this time his eyes wide and almost manic.

                “Stiles, I’m sorry. I should never have laid a hand on you. Do you want me to leave? I-I can go to Scott’s for a while.” Stiles barely understood what Derek had said before he was pulling a shirt out of his closet.

                “Derek, no.” Stiles lunged forward until he was gripping Derek’s arm tightly, trying to keep him from leaving.

                Derek’s voice was a little choked. “Stiles, I should go.” The wolf pried Stiles’ hand off of his arm with a ludicrous amount of ease.

                “Derek, I’ve been trying to tell you for the last two full moons—I don’t want you to go. I want you close.”

                The teen observed the fight drain out of the wolf. Stiles sighed and carefully took Derek’s hand, leading him to the end of the bed.

                Once they were sitting, the wolf almost reached out. “Stiles, did I hurt you?” Derek’s throat worked furiously as he swallowed, the desperation thick in his voice.

                “No, you just shocked me a little. I’m not used to being yelled at so early in the morning.” He tried a watery smile, but Derek just looked past him out of the windows.

                 “I keep screwing this up, just like I did with—” the wolf murmured softly, his words dropping off abruptly. His voice was vacant, his face resigned. It made something tug unpleasantly inside of Stiles.

                “With Allison?”

                Derek’s head whipped back to Stiles’ face, his eyes sharp and alert. Before he even asked, Stiles said, “Scott told me. I know what happened, Derek, and I know it wasn’t your fault.” The teen could see that Derek didn’t believe him.  

                 “I just want you safe, Stiles.”

                “Safe from you? Derek, I don’t feel safe with anyone _but_ you.” There were a few beats of silence between them where Derek just looked at him.

                “You can tell when I’m lying. Am I lying, Derek?”

                “No.” It was barely a whisper.

                Stiles exhaled and pushed a hand through his already horrible bed head. “I trust you, Derek. That doesn’t mean I expect you to be perfect. We’re both going to say and do the wrong thing at some point. But if you—if you just keep waiting for something to go wrong, it will eventually.”

                “Okay.”

                “Okay?” Stiles asked, feeling surprised that Derek had relented so soon. The wolf took his hand and gave it a squeeze before getting up from the bed.

                “I’m going to shower.”

                “Yeah,” the teen replied, feeling relieved, lighter, “I’ll start breakfast.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before reading, please look at the end note regarding sensitive and potentially triggering material, if this is a concern for you. 
> 
> On a lighter note, I want to sincerely thank everyone who has dedicated their personal time to read, comment, send kudos, bookmark, etc., etc., etc. You guys are amazing <3

               When Deucalion left Beacon Hills, he gave Scott a modest sum of money to find his own place and to start building a life as an official member of society. The house the Alpha chose was close to the hospital where his mother had continued to work. It was beautiful and quaint and homey and served the McCalls well, but at the same time, it was _old._ Built nearly a century ago. Which meant that when something else inevitably broke in the house and Scott was at work, Derek was the person Melissa called.  

                On such occasions, Stiles would often tag along to visit his father. The only assistance they could offer was supplying Melissa and Derek with coffee and food after the pair emerged from the basement or the bathroom or the garage, covered in sweat or grease or dirt. Neither of the Stilinskis were exactly handymen. Funnily, one of the many drawbacks of being trained in only one trade their entire lives was that they were hopelessly inexperienced in all the other ones.    

                Today happened to be one of those times where Derek had gone to Melissa’s to repair something that was leaking or broken or making the wrong sort of sound.

                Derek had stopped downstairs to tell Stiles that he was leaving, his knock on the door causing  Stiles to jerk a little in surprise, sending the debris of wood shavings that had fallen onto his lap to the floor. It wasn’t uncommon for the teen to work for long durations, uninterrupted and unaware of the passing time. Carving often involved long hours to achieve little progress, but the end product was always much finer if he didn’t rush.

                The agreement was that if Stiles was downstairs for more than five hours at a time, he would shoot Derek a quick text so that the wolf knew he was alright. Stiles always locked the door the second he arrived at the apartment, and Derek never entered without knocking.

                Every now and then, for a few fleeting seconds, the teen would feel like he was being babysat, but he could understand Derek’s concern. Stiles was a human strolling through an apartment complex filled with other Supernaturals at all hours of the day and night by himself. 

                Stiles was unsure of what kind of neighbors or tenants Derek had, but the wolf always looked a little edgy when the teen announced that he was going downstairs. Furthermore, Derek seemed to visibly relax when Stiles returned to the loft. The first few nights Stiles had been so excited to jump back into his work that he didn’t come home until the early hours of the morning. Every one of those nights, he found Derek on the couch, flipping through television stations with zero interest, his eyes heavy.

                After the first night, Stiles told Derek not to wait up because he now had a key to the loft, but the wolf had just shrugged wordlessly, like he either didn’t mind or that he had had every intention of staying up that late in the first place. As if Stiles didn’t know that Derek had never stayed up until three in the morning, not once in the time he had known him. Since then, no matter how late Stiles went downstairs, he always returned to the loft by midnight, knowing that Derek wouldn’t sleep unless he was already home.  

                It was a silent give-and-take between the two of them, never mentioned. Stiles abided by the rules, and in return, Derek never told Stiles when to come home and never asked him to stay at the loft instead of going downstairs. 

                Diving back into woodworking was like picking up something that Stiles had set aside for a little while. He still remembered the motions of his hands, how to tilt and angle his tools for the intended cut and mark. A lot of it was haptic memory, a sort of knowledge engrained in his palms and fingertips, that allowed him to pick up a piece of wood and start carving it without too much active thought. Still, he was rusty at first and had to tape the pads of his thumbs for the first week because he kept nicking them on the down stroke with his knife.

                He had practiced some cuts and gouges on small pieces of scrap wood, just to get a feel for it again. By the second day, he felt comfortable enough to start working on his first project—a wooden bowl, with knots and swirls and tendrils around the lip. He kept forgetting to ask Derek to take him back to the hardware store for sandpaper and a tool that all the Architects called the “scoop.” None of them had known the proper name for the device, but experience told him that it would be instrumental in hollowing out the middle of the bowl.  

                Wooden plateware might be a thing of the past, but Stiles preferred to make pieces that were useful or at the very least multifunctional. A bowl could be used for a dozen different purposes aside from a bowl; contrarily, a relief was pretty and easier to make, but it was essentially useless for anything besides a decoration.  

                Stiles brushed himself off and slid the door open to expose Derek leaning near the doorway.  

                “I need to run to Melissa’s. The pipes under her sink exploded twenty minutes ago, and there’s water all over her kitchen linoleum.”

                Stiles nodded. “Sure, give me a minute to clean up.” Another rule: if Derek wasn’t home, then Stiles had to stay at the loft. Derek didn’t need to worry about leaving Stiles there while he gone because everyone in the complex knew that was where the wolf lived. They all knew that stepping foot into a wolf’s den unpermitted was suicidal at best.   

                It only took half a minute to sweep the wood shavings into a small dustpan and empty them into the garbage can next to the workbench.

                “Thank you,” Derek added as Stiles locked the empty apartment.

                Stiles gave him a quick smile. “Sure. Give my love to my dad.” He had just seen his father two days ago, so he decided it was better to stay out of Derek and Melissa’s way.

                They parted at the stairs, Stiles clambering back up to the loft for something to eat. He had been downstairs since after lunch, and it was nearly seven o’clock now. He was starving.

                On his way out of the building, Derek had told Stiles to call or text him if he needed anything.

                Stiles needed milk.

                The teen had set his heart on a bowl of cereal, the one with the sugar and the pieces shaped like assorted fruits. Not the bran garbage Derek ate sometimes that looked like ground-up cardboard. All Stiles wanted was a bowl of cereal, but there was no milk. He had finished it that morning, adding an ample dose to his coffee. The empty carton was crushed and sitting mockingly in the recycling bin against the wall.  

                Now, the most sensible thing would have been to find something else to eat. Stiles knew that; he was relatively in touch with reality. The next option was to call Derek or someone from the pack to run to the store with him, which would be selfish and ridiculous and unnecessary. Besides, Scott was working, and the girls were locked away in their respective houses for the duration of the week to prepare for “finals.” From the look of dread shared amongst the girls at the mention of the words, Stiles figured they must be important.

                Neither Lydia, Kira, nor Malia had revealed anything about their schooling aside from the fact that they all attended the local university. Stiles suspected they were trying to spare his feelings, considering he would never be allowed to set foot in a school of any kind. After realizing that Scott was the only Supernatural in the pack that hadn’t attended college, Stiles noticed that the girls treated the Alpha with a similar sensitivity. The haves and the have-nots. The human guessed that Scott chose a vocation instead of schooling because he would have had to spend multiple years catching up to a high school competency level before he could even consider secondary education. Meds might have received the most thorough educations of all humans, but they still weren’t taught much beyond how to read.  

                Stiles had been working towards the last alternative, already rationalizing the idea, letting it tangle itself into his head and tempt him. He could always just go to the store by himself. At this point, the milk was a pathetic excuse, a thinly-veiled cover for a far greater motivation. 

                He could run to the store and be back before Derek ever knew that he had gone anywhere. After all, Derek had shown him the few places around the loft where he kept some extra cash in case of emergencies.

                Reaching into the container in the top corner of the kitchen cupboard, Stiles pulled out a five-dollar bill. He was already wearing a long-sleeved shirt, so his tattoo would be hidden.      

                He could do something as ordinary as buy a gallon of milk without an escort. He would be gone twenty minutes, tops. Easy.

                The sun was setting on his walk there, and Stiles kept incessantly checking his pockets, repeating a mantra of _keys, money, phone._ The last thing he needed was to accidentally lock himself out and then have to explain to one pissed-off wolf why he had left the apartment by himself in the first place.

                The buying was the easy part. After visiting the grocery store so many times, Stiles knew where everything was. He grabbed a half-gallon of two-percent and strolled to the checkout, exuding as much ease and nonchalance as he possibly could. Although the risk of him being called out as a human was slim.

                Other Supernaturals wouldn’t automatically assume that any anxiety they sensed was because of status, and the Consumers would never be bold enough to question a potential Supernatural. Just to be safe, he kept the sleeve of his shirt long and loose around his left wrist and tried to use only his right hand.

                At the checkout, Stiles felt a familiar pang as he watched the Consumer scan his milk and hand back his change with dead eyes and mechanical movements. Suddenly, his trip felt like a gross display of bragging. He had been slightly resentful about needing a constant chaperon, but these people were destined to be slaves for the rest of their lives. They would most likely never know the kindness of Supernaturals like Derek and his pack, and they would certainly never experience a life as good as Stiles’, where his family was safe and they all had full bellies every day.

                A shiver rippled through him, his blood turning cold. The dead-on-their-feet humans, pale and lifeless, reminded him that he was gambling with a good life, a life he never thought he would have. More than that, he felt like he was being ungracious towards Derek and insulting towards his fellow humans. Even if they didn’t know.

                In a span of twenty minutes, Stiles had gone from defiant and motivated to ashamed and embarrassed. He wanted nothing more than to go home.

                The dose of reality was unwelcome but necessary. Derek had made life so easy for him that he forgotten what it was like for the other ninety-nine percent of the human race.

                Now, in an ideal world, Stiles wouldn’t chastise himself for something as common as walking to the store, wouldn’t try to modify _his_ behavior to accommodate the heinous habits of some Supernaturals. He knew that hewasn’t the problem. But Stiles didn’t live in an ideal world. He lived in this one.

                It was dim enough for the streetlights to be on when Stiles left the store. He checked his phone for the time and noted that the walk back to the loft would only be another ten minutes.

                The first few blocks were crossed in total silence, passing cars providing the only ambient noise. Stiles was walking the sidewalk, passing identical brick building after brick building when he started to hear the rhythmic scuffs and taps of footfalls behind him. At first, the human thought it was just a coincidence. The town wasn’t huge, so the person was probably just going in the same direction.

                The longer it continued, the more uneasy Stiles became. With every step forward, he heard an echo of a stranger’s footsteps behind him. He could feel his stomach churning, his muscles tightening with tension. The teen was inducing a headache with how hard he was straining his ears to hear the stranger’s steps.

                And then suddenly, they stopped. Stiles walked a few more paces before confirming that no one was there anymore. He sighed, heartbeat slowing and steadying. To satisfy his curiosity, he looked back, seeing only the bare expanses of the street.

                Another car drove past him, the headlights momentarily blinding Stiles so that he was blinking blue dots out of his eyes. He pushed a hand through his hair and exhaled. “Well, that’ll teach you, Stiles,” he muttered under his breath. What had seemed like a liberating adventure at first was now becoming a stressful event that he couldn’t wait to be over.  

                Stiles turned back around and walked right into a man that stood in front of him on the sidewalk. He had come out of nowhere, silently.

                Stiles recoiled, flailing his arms to pull the milk gallon to his chest before it splattered all over the cement. Then his trip really would have been pointless.

                “Wow, I’m so sorry,” he blurted, “I didn’t see you.” The fact that Derek didn’t make him follow behavioral protocol with himself and his pack made it a little easier to pretend that Stiles was a Supernatural, on equal footing. Still, nearly two decades of conditioning couldn’t eliminate a few months of lazy conduct. Stiles practically choked on his spit in an attempt to stop from starting his sentence with “sir.”

                He pushed a little further with his act, staring directly into the stranger’s eyes. Watery blue with unremarkable dirty-blonde hair shaved close to his scalp, glowing golden with the light of the nearby streetlamp.

                Meanwhile, the guy, young, maybe Derek’s age, was too preoccupied to accept Stiles’ apology. He was staring at Stiles’ wrist, the left one. The sleeve of the teen’s shirt had been pressed up to his forearm in his struggle to save the milk.

                Pale, fragile skin was exposed to the night air, and the soft light only highlighted the contrast between his white skin and the bold black of his tattoo.

                Stiles’ chest instantly filled with lead, black spots dancing in front of his eyes. Now was not the time for a panic attack. He strained his breathing until it was painful but even and forced out through his internal hysteria, “Sorry again.” He was going to fake it until he was called out. If he didn’t act like anything out of the ordinary was occurring, maybe the man wouldn’t either. There was a small chance that the stranger thought Stiles’ tattoo was personal, even though it was placed precisely in the location designated for human identification. Maybe the guy would think he was newly turned.  

                Stiles offered another weak, apologetic smile before brushing past the man. It was a physical strain to keep his steps slow and easy, and he gnashed his teeth together to release some tension and anxiety. It wouldn’t exactly be inconspicuous if he starting sprinting home.  

                Brisk footsteps were clicking behind him on the pavement again. Stiles’ phone was already in his hand, and he dialed Derek’s number from memory. He would accept the risk of calling Derek for no reason and enduring the wolf’s incomparable rage if it meant the stranger would leave him alone.  

                The moment he saw the timer on the call begin, there was a sharp tug on his shoulder that pulled him backwards.

                This time, he did lose his grip on the milk, saw it bounce into the gutter, still unopened. Stiles had only just shoved his phone back in his front pocket, the call still connected, before he was being spun around to face the same man.

                “Are you out here all by yourself?” The stranger flashed a savage grin. Maybe the guy thought it was charming. His grip pulsed and tightened painfully on Stiles’ shoulder, and it was at that moment that Stiles knew he was found out. Supernaturals didn’t grab at each other or place unwarranted hands on one another, not unless they were begging for a confrontation.  

                “Don’t you know how dangerous it is for humans to walk around without their Masters? Someone could just swoop in and take you.” He _tsk_ ed at Stiles, his hand traveling to his nape, which he gave another squeeze. He whispered, “Especially a pretty little thing like you.”

                The only thing saving him from a panic attack right now was the adrenaline, forcing his heart into overdrive, his breaths shallow and urgent. He couldn’t afford to be that vulnerable right now, not in a strange place with someone he didn’t trust.

                His mouth felt full of ash. “My Master’s only a minute away, and he’s a werewolf. He’s going to be upset that you even touched his property. So-so just leave now before it gets worse.”

                The guy laughed, petting Stiles’ cheek even though it made the teen wince.

                “You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you, pretty boy?”

                “I-I’m just going to go.” He tried to walk forward, only to have his arm jerked practically out of its socket. His back was pressed snugly against the man’s chest, and he felt warm breath accompany the words in his ear.

                “We’re going to go down the alley right there, and you’re going to cooperate. Or else I’ll break your neck right now. Understand?”

                Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. His only hope was that Derek would understand that he was in trouble, that he couldn’t answer. Because there was no way he could overpower the stranger. No way that someone would help him. Any passerby would assume that Stiles was his Assistant. The thought was jarring, only sought to make him more nauseous and upset.

                He was slammed up against the brick wall of the alley, feeling a dull ache in his shoulder blades from the impact.

                “If your Master really is coming, then why don’t I watch over you until he gets here? Hmmm?”

                “Let me go. I’m not yours,” Stiles pleaded, squirming against the intense grip on his wrists.

                The man kept his words quiet and even so that they slithered into the teen’s ears like noxious gas. “But you could be.” His eyes flicked all over Stiles’ face, searching. His nostrils flared. “It’s odd that his scent isn’t all over you. Aren’t wolves supposed to be touchy?”

                His grin was lecherous. There was no other word to describe it. He just kept talking, _taunting,_ and touching Stiles in a way that made the acid gurgle in the pit of the boy’s stomach.

                “You must be a new pet. There’s no other explanation. A wolf wouldn’t be able to resist claiming you for long, not with this skin. That _mouth._ ” His eyes lowered to Stiles’ lips, where harsh gasps were wheezing out of his throat. He could feel his heart clenching violently, his organs going haywire in revolt, recognizing that none of this felt right, that he was starting to feel sick.  

                “Ah, that’s it, isn’t it?” The man paused, mouth parted, eyes twinkling in delight. “He hasn’t fucked you yet.” The Supernatural buried his face in Stiles’ neck so that his lips were tilted to the boy’s ear. He hissed, “Hasn’t buried himself inside your tight little cunt yet…but I will.”

                The guy—no, he was a proper _monster—_ manhandled Stiles until the side of his face was crushed painfully against the brick, his legs kicked apart so that he could maintain his balance.

                Stiles abandoned whatever dignity he had left and started begging. There was no chance of reaching the stranger’s conscience; he didn’t have one. Stiles was only a human after all, existed to be used and tossed aside. Regardless, there was a small hope that he could buy some time before Derek got there. If Derek was even coming.

                “Please, please, let me go. _Please!_ ”

                The free hand that wasn’t grinding his wrists into the brick was roaming underneath Stiles’ shirt, feeling his skin.

                “You think your Master…your _wolf…_ is going to want you after I’m through with you? You’ll be claimed already. He’s going to sell you to the Companions, so you might as well stop fighting me and get used to it.”

                Stiles screamed as loudly as he could, with so much force he felt like his throat had ruptured. He didn’t know what else to do. He was running on pure desperation and impulse.

                His yelling ended abruptly with a punch to the kidneys that knocked the rest of the breath from his chest. He would have doubled over if not for the brick wall in front of him and the man smashing into him from behind.

                One moment, he felt a rough hand groping at the front of his jeans, and the next, he was crying out as sharp lines of pain shot down his back. The man’s warmth and pressure and body weight disappeared, and Stiles stumbled backwards without the support.

                In fact, he fell straight onto his ass at the sight of Derek gripping the man by the shirt and _slamming_ him into the alley wall with such ferocity that the bricks audibly cracked. Derek’s face had already sprouted fur, the bones resetting and broadening to form an indescribably furious werewolf.

                Where he had always been careful of his claws and fangs around Stiles, he plunged his nails into the stranger’s sternum and _roared_ in his face. It wasn’t like the growl in the book store when the woman had insulted him. The noise was so loud it rattled the bones in Stiles’ body, made his head ache. Derek wasn’t just asserting himself; he was prepared to rip the man limb from limb.

                Derek snapped his fangs an inch from the guy’s face, and raised one clawed hand into killing position. The man was struggling vigorously, kicking and scratching and hitting, but Derek didn’t even take notice. The stranger was definitely a Supernatural, given his strength, but he must have been something relatively tame because he looked absolutely petrified.

                Stiles crawled onto his knees and yelled, “Wait.” His voice was rough and grating due to his aching throat.

                Derek jerked his head sharply in Stiles’ direction, his lips pulled back to reveal the full mouth of razor-like fangs. “Stiles,” he ground out.

                “Don’t kill him.”

                “ _What?_ ” Derek snarled, his eyes glowing neon blue.

                “Call the police. Please. Don’t kill him.” Stiles couldn’t help but recognize how weak he sounded, how he felt like a breeze would knock him over. But he needed to keep it together.

                Derek was fuming, the air gusting noisily out of his nose. He looked like he was about to argue but then gritted his teeth. He shifted one hand back with a fine control that was both terrifying and reassuring. Now that his claws weren’t in the way, he tapped 9-1-1 into the keypad, all the while keeping his other hand clasped tightly in the man’s shirt.

                It was easily the most tense and awkward five minutes of Stiles’ life, with Derek growling uncontrollably the whole time, never budging or letting the man away from the wall. Stiles had gotten up at some point and tried to move closer, only to be near Derek and make sure he was alright, but the wolf snarled and barked for him to stay away.

                Stiles slid down the bricks gingerly, minding his back which felt like it was on fire. He sat, twining his fingers and trying to neither cry nor vomit.

                Two policemen pulled up to the mouth of the alley, red and blue lights flashing. While one officer applied the mountain ash handcuffs to the man and shoved him into the backseat, the other began scribbling in a portable notepad.

                Derek called Stiles over a minute later, all of his features human again.  

                The policeman writing down Derek’s statement was gruff and middle-aged but conducted his job with a seriousness and efficiency that reassured Stiles.

                He pointed towards Derek with his pen before speaking. “Is this your Master?”

                Stiles’ throat was bone dry, but he forced out a “yes.”

                “Name?”

                “Stiles Hale.” It was the first time Stiles had used his new surname, and its cadence was soothing. He noticed that Derek was blinking excessively, his fine dark lashes swatting against his cheekbones. It was a tiny pleasure, amidst a series of awful events, to know that Derek enjoyed sharing his name with Stiles. The teen bargained that his wolf skipped for joy at the sound of Stiles’ new name.  In the deepest recesses of his heart, he and his father would always be Stilinskis, but being a Hale or a McCall wasn’t so awful.  

                “Could you hold your wrist out for me, son?” Green, bloodshot eyes switched from Stiles to Derek. “Mr. Hale, if you could show me a form of ID and your Assistant registration.”

                Stiles rolled up his sleeve and offered his tattooed wrist forward. Meanwhile, Derek provided two cards from his wallet; one identifying himself and the other his ownership rights to Stiles. Just from being a part of society, Stiles knew that once all of the paperwork corresponded, the case would be pretty straightforward.  

                Aside from murder, there was no greater crime that a Supernatural could commit against another than harming or interfering with a Supernatural’s human. The possessiveness found within most Supernaturals wouldn’t allow for it. Not to mention the economic ramifications posed to the Assistant and Companion Industries if any human could be stolen or raped without severe repercussions. No one would need to purchase humans any more if they were all free game and automatically accessible.

                The officer looked up from his pad to Stiles. “I need a brief statement from you about what happened.”

                Stiles kept his head bent low, now that he was in the presence of a strange Supernatural. He also couldn’t bear to meet Derek’s face right now.

                “I…I was on my way home from the store, when he followed me.”

                “Did he threaten you or physically harm you?” The officer was scratching rapidly in his notes, spewing questions with an impersonality that suggested he had been in his line of work for a long time.

                “Yes. He, um, said he would k-kill me if I didn’t follow him. And…” Stiles’ throat locked as he tried to swallow.

                “And?” The policeman’s eyes had moved back to Stiles’, one eyebrow raised.

                “He was trying to-to touch me.”

                “What do you mean by ‘touch?’” The pen never stopped moving down the notepad. The officer reached the bottom, flipped the page, and started writing again.

                “He was trying to force himself on me, sir.” His voice was barely a whisper. Even looking at the ground, Stiles could feel Derek grow tense beside him, saw his feet shuffle, could hear a few unrepressed growls slip from his chest.

                Apparently, the officer could, too. He cast his glance to Derek. “I know this is upsetting, Mr. Hale. I just have one last question, and then you can take him home.”

                There was a pause where Stiles could imagine Derek nodding in that subtle, severe way he did when words were too difficult.

                “Did the attacker know that you were an Assistant to Mr. Hale before engaging with you?”

                “Yes. He saw my tattoo, sir, but he didn’t care.”

                The officer sighed and closed his notepad, tucking it into his front shirt pocket. “Very well. It’s unlikely we should have any additional questions, but if we do, we’ll call. Mr. Hale.” The officer jerked his head in a quick nod before returning to his car.

                The lights faded as the police car turned the corner, leaving behind only the stale light of the streetlamp.

                And now that they were alone, Stiles couldn’t even imagine what to say. How he could even begin to justify his actions? He couldn’t, and he didn’t want to. He deserved Derek’s wrath, gambling with his life like he was the only person affected by it. He couldn’t stop thinking about his father, how he would react to something happening to his only son. When they were both finally safe.

                Bile welled up in his throat. He felt raw and shattered inside, so utterly disappointed in himself.  

                Derek broke the silence. “The car’s right across the street.” It wasn’t until Stiles stopped abruptly, Derek bumping into his back, that he realized how closely the wolf had been trailing him.  

                “Stiles?” An edge of concern was noticeable in Derek’s voice. It was perhaps the only thing outweighing his palpable fury.  

                Something in the street had caught his eye, forcing the human to stop. The white, opaque container of the milk carton was glowing amidst the black frozen river of tar, still tucked safely against the curb of the street. Intact and unspoiled.

                “I went to the store for milk. I dropped it…” The words felt foreign and empty. Stiles didn’t even realize he was forming them until they hit the air. The enveloping silence of the night was pressing in on him along with a barrage of emotions surrounding the evening’s events. Stiles was starting to feel light and distant, too overwhelmed by the vividity and harshness of the world around him right now. A helpful voice in his head chirped that he was finally falling into the abyss of shock, succumbing to the trauma.

                He clutched the milk to his chest and let Derek usher him into the car, the heat of the wolf’s body tangible against his back.

                When Derek settled into the driver’s seat, he slouched over the wheel and let out a sharp exhale. He seemed…shaken…which was even more disturbing for Stiles than the whole horrible night. Derek was a rock, unshakeable. The boy’s hands started trembling slightly, and he reached out towards Derek, certain not to touch.

                “Derek?” His voice was still feeble and raw, cracking halfway through his name.

                “Stiles, we’ll talk when we get home.”

                The loft was deathly quiet except for the sounds of their feet. Stiles had gone straight to the fridge to put the milk away. It seemed like the most important thing he could do at the moment.

                Derek had followed him and was leaning against the counter, his arms crossed, the muscles over his jaw ticcing violently.

                Stiles took his position, slouching against the kitchen table to prepare for a very painful conversation.

                “What were you thinking?” Even though Derek sounded angry, so completely _frustrated_ , Stiles could sense the heartbroken undertone. Like he was falling to pieces, too.

                “I wanted to do something by myself. Just something small.”

                “Stiles, it was _dark_ out. You were by your _self_.” Derek had started pacing, digging his fingertips into his forearms. There was something deeply disturbing about seeing Derek unraveled, and Stiles realized that he had taken for granted that Derek would always make everything better. Sometimes, Stiles forgot that Derek was still human and unsure and could be frightened.

                The man typically occupied two emotional states: anger and stoicism. Right now, he _was_ angry, undeniably so, but he was also fidgety and irritated in a way that Stiles had never seen him.

                “It was selfish. I’m sorry,” the human croaked, infusing as much sincerity into his words as possible. He hadn’t meant to make Derek worry. It was the opposite of what he wanted.

                Suddenly, Derek slammed the heel of his fist onto the countertop, creating a thundering _boom_. The wolf’s eyes were glowing blue again.

                “Dammit, I don’t want an apology, Stiles. I know it’s not fair that you can’t go out by yourself. I know I don’t _own_ you.” Derek braced himself against the counter, swallowing hard. He wouldn’t turn around while he spoke, his broad back exposed to Stiles.

                “I almost didn’t get there in time. And I heard the things he was saying to you, what he was going to do. I was beyond terrified.” Derek forced out a humorless laugh and finally looked over his shoulder to catch Stiles’ eye. “I’d like to think I’m not easily frightened, but you really scare me sometimes, Stiles.”

                The teen gulped, his throat feeling tender from the screaming and the held-back tears. “Don’t-don’t tell my dad. I don’t want him to worry about me anymore than he does.”

                Stiles had moved closer to the wolf, letting his fingertips graze Derek’s back so that he would turn around.

                His eyes were washed and pale from the overhead light in the kitchen, stress lines creeping from the corners of his eyes and mouth. Stiles’ heart dropped a little when he saw them. He did that.

                “Do I need to be worried, Stiles?”

                “I won’t do it again, I swear. Never again.” He nodded to himself, making a promise. If nothing else, tonight was a firm reminder of what Stiles had been taking for granted, of all the wonderful and precious things he had in life now. He wasn’t going to jeopardize them again.  

                Derek huffed in agitation, seemingly unable to find the words he needed. “It doesn’t have to be…just me. If you’re feeling claustrophobic, and you need to get out of the loft, just take someone from the pack. I’m not trying to—” Derek broke off, rubbing his hands over his eyes.

                They were only a foot apart now, since Stiles had been inching forward like Derek was a rattled animal that would flee at any moment. Stiles was struggling just as valiantly to express his thoughts, to say the right thing. But his lips were only quivering over unspoken words. Before he could say anything, the teen found himself crushed against a solid, warm body.

                Stiles whimpered when Derek’s hands spread over his spine, pulling him in close until his body bent to fit along the Derek’s front. Stiles’ arms looped firmly around the wolf’s neck, and he sobbed once, the fear and mental strain catching up with him.

                “I was so stupid. I’m sorry.” He buried his face in the side of Derek’s neck, feeling hot shame when his tears dripped down onto Derek’s skin.

                “I just—” Derek’s exhale broke in the middle, “I can’t have anything happen to you. You know that, right?”

                Stiles released another sob, and Derek smothered the shaking by pulling the boy closer, sealing them together. Derek’s pretty hands shifted across Stiles’ back, moving the fabric underneath them, dragging the skin taut.  

                Stiles’ breath hitched as sharp pains zipped down his back. He supposed Derek had heard the interruption in his breaths because his hands froze.

                “Stiles, you’re bleeding.” Derek’s voice possessed that same novel urgency as earlier. Like he was terrified that Stiles was in imminent danger or would disappear at any moment.         

                The teen could feel the throbbing pulse of blood and the accompanying heat from a fresh, inflamed wound that was torn open.

                “I’m fine. Don’t let go.” Stiles nearly begged, hiccupping on his tears, and clung to Derek more desperately. The scratches from the stranger’s claws or talons had been aching dully since Derek had driven them home. The pain was more annoying that debilitating, and Stiles had hardly noticed it until Derek pulled at the tender skin, breaking open new scabs.

                He didn’t want to leave Derek’s arms. Even if Derek was mildly freaking out right along with him, Stiles still never felt safer. It wasn’t a coincidence that Derek’s scent, his presence, could center Stiles during a panic attack. It always had, even his first week here, when he didn’t know whether Derek was going to kill him or return him.

                “I need to clean you up. I don’t know if there was poison or toxin in his claws. I don’t know what he was.”

                Indisputable logic—along with a desire to not suffer from infected wounds—made Stiles reluctantly ease his arms from Derek’s neck until his limbs fell limply to his sides. Derek led him to the couch.  

                “It would probably be easiest if you stripped your shirt off and laid on your stomach. I’m going to grab some wash cloths from the bathroom.”  

                Stripping proved to be easier said than done. Stiles sensed that there wasn’t a huge amount of blood, probably why Derek hadn’t smelled it sooner. The bleeding was sluggish enough that the shirt was only stuck to the wounded areas of his back where the blood had dried and congealed. It did sting like a bitch whenever he pulled the fabric across it though. He knew that bending and moving his arms the next few days would be awkward and painful.

                Stiles had done little more than wince and raise his shirt half an inch before Derek returned to the living room with cloths and a bowl of water.

                “Do you need help?”

                “Um, I’m just a little stuck,” Stiles murmured. He blushed, turning away from Derek, and raising his arms over his head. A cascade of fine shivers rippled across his skin when Derek’s hands skimmed over bare flesh.

                “Are you alright?”

                “Yeah, yeah. Just the cool air.” Stiles felt small bursts of pain where the material clung to the broken skin.

                Stiles sighed in relief when he felt the shirt flutter over his bare arms and head. He dropped his arms to his sides, feeling the rush of blood and warmth return to them.

                He stood still for a moment, waiting for Derek to do something.

                “Derek, what’s—Hey, hey, _stop._ ” It was becoming a regular occurrence tonight for Derek’s eyes to be electric blue and piercing. He was partially shifted again, his hands clenched so that his nails were stabbing into the meat of his palms.

                Stiles snatched Derek’s wrist and wrenched his fingers out of their fist to stop the rivulets of blood dripping onto the floor. He watched Derek’s palm open and the deep gouges disappear, leaving behind nothing but smears of blood. The wolf was still clutching Stiles’ shirt in his other hand, and Stiles used it to wipe Derek’s skin clean. He couldn’t help but stare, mesmerized by the flawless flesh that was  completely healed and once again unblemished.

                “What are you _doing_?”

                “I should’ve killed him,” Derek snarled from behind his fangs. He was panting wildly, his eyes flickering between blue and hazel like a dying light bulb.

                After the trauma that he endured tonight, a pissed-off Derek was comparatively less threatening. Stiles reached forward despite the lingering tremors in his hands and cupped Derek’s face. “You’re not a killer. You’re a good man.”

                “I’m not a _man_ ,” he growled.

                “I don’t care.” Stiles insisted, shaking his head before flicking his eyes back to Derek’s face. “You saved me.”

                The human kept his hands feather-light against Derek’s cheeks, the beautiful curve of bone underneath his fingertips. His thumbs slid faintly around the corners of Derek’s mouth until he saw the fangs recede.

                “Stiles, you should see your back.” Derek’s voice trembled with rekindled fury, despite being physically under control again.

                A tendril of panic weaved through his guts and into his chest. Stiles recalled what the stranger had said, and while he wasn’t a reliable source, the teen needed closure, certainty.

                “What if they scar?” Stiles whispered, afraid of the answer.  

                “I think it’s too early to tell.” The human felt a gentle touch along the edge of one scratch. Another hand touched his side and guided him down onto the couch.

                “But what if they do?”

                “Stiles, what are you really trying to ask me?” Derek squeezed the wash cloth over the bowl before starting to clean the human’s back. Stiles listened to the soft _plips_ of water droplets.  

                “If they did scar, what would that mean? He said—and I’ve read…He _marked_ me, Derek. Maybe permanently, and your wolf thinks I’m yours.”

                The cloth stopped dabbing at Stiles’ back, and it was hard to tell with his face pressed against the couch cushion whether Derek was angry or shocked.

                The wolf’s voice was quiet, lethal. “You think you’re spoiled goods? That I’ll just toss you out of the pack because that _animal—_ ” There was a pregnant pause and a sharp intake of breath before Derek continued. “I heard what he said. How he wanted to ruin you for me…You’re not ruined. Or dirty or wrong. The marks don’t mean a damn thing to anyone in this pack; we’ll still want you.”

                The bones in Stiles’ hands were creaking with how tightly he was gripping the edge of the cushion. He couldn’t think of anything to say and supplied a quiet, “Oh.”

                Derek finished tending to him in silence, just as tenderly and caringly as Stiles’ first night here, when the wolf cleaned his new tattoo. Stiles wondered if people realized how gentle and soft Derek could be, if anyone outside of his pack ever got to see that side of the beta.

                The wash cloth slipped into the bowl with a muffled splash, signaling that Derek’s job was done.             

                “How’s the pain?”

                “Just a little sore. Nothing I can’t handle.”

                A moment later, the wolf was only inches away from his face, kneeling next to the couch. This close, Derek’s eyes looked like kaleidoscopes, not just their pale, clear-water green anymore. A ring of golden brown around the pupil softened them.

                “Do you need anything? Hungry?”

                Stiles snorted softly. “God, no. I couldn’t eat right now.” The humor bled from his face. “I’m fine, Derek. Really. I’ve already ruined your night beyond repair. I don’t want to—”

                Derek shushed him by pressing his fingertips lightly to Stiles’ lips. The wolf’s forehead was creased with disgruntlement.

                “Don’t you dare blame yourself.” The words were barely audible but sharp. “You were reckless tonight, but that doesn’t excuse that fucking animal’s behavior. This world isn’t good enough for you, Stiles. You deserve better.”

                Stiles nodded as best as he could with the side of his face smashed into the cushions. If he tried to respond, he was sure to start crying again.

                “Do you want me to put a movie in?”

                “Yes, please,” the teen whispered, feeling more grateful to Derek than he could express. He bit his lip and blinked the tears out of his eyes.

                Derek picked one of the DVDs that Scott and Kira had gotten him for his birthday. He had watched them all already and loved them all in their own way. They provided a distraction, a source of comfort.

                The wolf didn’t make an excuse to leave or even ask if Stiles wanted him to stay. He simply settled onto the other end of the couch, cradling Stiles’ feet in his lap.

                As much as Stiles wanted to cuddle into Derek’s side like he normally did during pack movie nights, his back felt the most comfortable with him flat on his stomach. It would give the skin a chance to air out before he showered and changed tomorrow.

                Two hours later, the rolling end credits of the movie brought dread to Stiles, who didn’t feel any more tired.

                Meanwhile, Derek slid out from underneath Stiles’ legs and stretched, a few joints cracking. He yawned and wiped a hand over the side of his weary face.

                Stiles was on his own for the nest of the night. He would have to slink up to his room and pray for a few hours of dreamless sleep. He couldn’t ask Derek to stay with him any longer, not after being such a colossal burden today.

                “Are you gonna sleep at all tonight?” Derek was placing the disc back in its case, turning off the television.

                “I’m going to try.” It wasn’t a lie, but it was an evasive answer, and Derek was too intuitive even on his worst day.

                “C’mon.” Derek held his hand out for the teen, looking worn and rough around the edges and stunning.

                Stiles dug his heels into the floor once he understood where Derek was leading him. The wolf looked back at him, tugging lightly on his hand to goad him forward. 

                “Stiles, it’s just a bed. Not a portal to a hell dimension.”

                “Look at you with the jokes again…It’s just…this bed and I have a negative history.” Stiles tucked his arms across his torso, pointedly trying to ignore Derek disrobing a few feet away from him.

                “It’s just an offer, Stiles. You can go back to the couch or sleep in your room. It’s up to you. But I have experience with nightmares.”

                Derek changed into a pair of loose black sweatpants, barefoot, hair mussed from changing.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

                “I wouldn’t have offered if I minded.” Without further ado, Derek pulled back the blankets on the right side of his bed and slipped in.

                The sight was too tempting, miles of smooth skin visible in the moonlight, the blankets tucked around the wolf’s waist. Stiles kicked his socks off and shimmied out of his jeans, keeping his back to Derek.

                Normally, Stiles always wore a shirt to bed, but he didn’t want to bother his back anymore. The teen slipped in between cool, crisp sheets and faced the wall of windows, settling carefully back on his stomach. He kept the comforter around his hips so that he wouldn’t ruin Derek’s bedding if his cuts reopened during the night.

                “You don’t need to be afraid to sleep, Stiles. If you have a nightmare, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

                “I know,” he murmured, his face pressed into a pillow that smelled like the wolf. Wild and refreshing. He kept inhaling until he was drunk on the scent, and then slipped absentmindedly into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a situation involving an attempted rape. It is not graphic and does not occur between the main pairing, but please feel free to skip the passage if such a scenario is beyond your comfort level.


	14. Chapter 14

                After the incident, Stiles had been expecting for the two of them to tiptoe around each other for a few days, but if anything, things had actually gotten…better. Perhaps they had both bled their hearts out to the point where they couldn’t do anything but move forward. There had been nightmares the first few nights, especially when Stiles went back to sleeping alone in his room. But he always woke up to Derek sitting on the side of the his bed, rubbing soothingly at his shoulder, brushing the hair away from his sweaty forehead without any explanation. The wolf must have heard him thrashing in the night, the unsteady beats of his heart. Despite the stress and pain and fear of the other night, Stiles felt closer to Derek than he ever had before, on some new intimate level.

                Meanwhile, the girls had all texted him in a flurry of excitement about their upcoming pack night, having finished their college term for the rest of the spring and summer.  Stiles had even managed to sell that bowl he spent two weeks perfecting once he had found a godforsaken scorp—no wonder everyone just called it a “scoop”.

                Stiles had virtually no sense of money, and therefore, had no idea if twenty dollars was a fair price for the piece. Even if it wasn’t, he was thrilled at the possibility of _earning_ money for the first time. Of course, the old man at the arts-and-crafts-type shop gave the money to Derek, probably assuming that the wolf was forcing his human to make wooden bowls in some makeshift sweatshop and then pocketing the earnings.

                Even though Stiles was ignorant in appraisals, Derek insisted that the human help set the starting price for his own work. Derek carried out the negotiations with the demon who owned the store since Stiles wasn’t actually allowed to bargain.

                When they first walked into the small shop, filled with glassware and other wooden pieces and sculptures and pottery, the wolf murmured to Stiles about the characteristic smell of burnt plastic and sulfur that surrounded the elderly man behind the counter. After a solid ten minutes of haggling—the owner was a demon after all—the Supernatural had agreed to take Stiles’ piece off of their hands.

                “Your boy does nice work,” the old man commented, looking closely at the bowl, turning it over in his gnarled hands. Blunt, square-tipped fingers traced the intricate network of engraving around the rim of the bowl. 

                “He does,” Derek replied firmly, no room for argument. Stiles’ face had caught fire from where he stood quietly behind Derek.

                It was hard to gauge how traditional a Supernatural was in regards to human relations, so Stiles decided it was best to behave formally. Derek had been hesitant to return to treating the teen as an inferior in public, arguing that the money wasn’t that important. To which Stiles replied that the money was not the point; only what he could do with the money was relevant. He could stomach the obedient human act if it meant the man would continue to buy from him. It wasn’t like it was the first time Stiles had to play the part.

                As soon as they left the store, Derek slipped the crisp twenty-dollar bill into Stiles’ hand, officially the most money the human had ever handled up to this point in his life.

                “Can you break this in half?” Stiles asked.

                Derek nodded, pulling a ten and two fives out of his wallet in exchange for the larger bill. Stiles wrapped Derek’s hand around the ten and pushed it back towards the wolf.

                “This is yours, and I’ll give Scott the other ten.”  

                As expected, Derek’s brow furrowed, and he shoved the money back towards Stiles. “Stiles, this is yours. I won’t take it.”

                After living with Derek for almost three months, Stiles liked to think that he knew him fairly well. He had his argument already prepared, just for this contingency. “Hear me out, Derek. You already buy me everything that I want or need. And I know it’s not much, but I could chip in for groceries or pay for some of the expenses. Just _something_.”

                A walking Supernatural brushed by them on his way down the sidewalk, and Derek snarled under his breath, knowing it was an accident but disliking it nonetheless. He tapped Stiles on the wrist and motioned for him to follow back to the car.

                “Stiles, it’s not like you volunteered to live with me. You didn’t have a choice. I don’t expect you to treat us like roommates.”

                “What if that’s what I want?”

                Derek sighed and looked at Stiles from the corner of his eyes, the sign that he had surrendered. “You can always change your mind. You might want to do something different with it later.”

                “And I know I’ll have the option. But Scott took in my dad without a thought. That’s another mouth to feed. Scott used to be a human; he knows what a big deal that is. Plus, he has Melissa and the house and the car. I know you could help him if he really needed it, but I can’t think of what else I would want to do with this money.”

                Derek shook his head, a smile creeping into the corners of his mouth. “Stiles.” There was still the omnipresent tinge of frustration present when Derek said his name, but there was a little endearment, too.

* * *

                Stiles planned on giving Scott his money that night, when the pack came over, and he expected to have to offer a similar defense to convince Scott to take it. Or maybe it would be easier. Maybe Scott would understand what Stiles was trying to do, human to past-human.

                A few minutes before the pack was expected, Derek sat down next to Stiles on the couch.

                “I told them what happened last week. Not any details, just that some asshole attacked you. I don’t like to keep secrets from them.”

                Stiles scratched the back of his head a little uncomfortably. “No, I get it. I wouldn’t want you to.”

                “They know to keep it quiet. Scott hasn’t told Melissa or your father.”

                The teen sighed. “Thank you.”

                The first time Stiles saw the lacerations in the mirror, they weren’t terribly deep, but each one was filled with dried, burgundy blood, surrounded by a glowing pink border where the skin was still swollen and tender. It was the contrast with his pale skin that contributed the most to the apparent ugliness of the wounds. Recently, they had scabbed over and started to become maddeningly itchy, all good signs according to Derek. The wolf applied new bandages and ointment every morning to make sure the wounds didn’t become infected and left them exposed to air while Stiles slept.  

                 The second the pack entered the loft, it was painfully obvious that they knew about the incident. It was good thinking on Derek’s part to give him a warning because Stiles was unprepared for the onslaught.

                The four of them made a beeline for Stiles. The human had barely stood up to greet them before Scott was pulling him into a firm hug, mindful of his back.

                The Alpha’s adorable dimples were on display as he grinned, just genuinely happy to see his friend and witness that he was okay. He sent a sweet “hey man” to Stiles before joining Derek in the kitchen to help gather snacks.

                Immediately, Scott was replaced by two armfuls of Kira, who was typically so reserved that Stiles was too delighted to do anything but squeeze her back. “Hi, Stiles.” Her smile accentuated the apples of her cheeks, made her dark doe eyes shine. She placed a gentle kiss on the side of his face and then moved over to the TV to rifle through the DVDs.

                The combined force of both Malia and Lydia was nearly enough to knock Stiles backwards onto the couch, if not for their arms winding around him and pulling him into a mass hug. Lydia didn’t crave the tactility of the weres, and Malia was not outwardly affectionate, but both girls were currently planting small kisses all over Stiles’ nose and cheeks and forehead.

                “What’s going on?”

                Malia had nudged her head under Stiles’ chin and was nuzzling against him. “You’re hurt, Stiles. We want to take care of you.”

                Lydia’s mouth was right near his ear, her head resting on his other shoulder. “We want you to know how much we care about you.”

                They ushered him down onto the couch, close to the end. Malia curled up against him between the armrest while Lydia leaned into his other side, offering simple closeness and love.

                Soon enough, Derek, Kira, and Scott filled in the rest of the couch. Stiles knew enough about pack healing to recognize it. One of them usually sat in the armchair or in front of the couch because it was a tight fit for all of them.

                They were all close and snuggling and warm, and Stiles could definitely see the appeal. Scott was next to Derek with Kira spread haphazardly across both of their laps.

                Thankfully, the kitsune had started the movie before she cuddled into their pile because everyone was too comfortable to move. Lydia was cradling a bowl of chips, feeding both Stiles and Malia in alternation. He could hear Derek and Scott talking softly from the other end of the couch.

                Halfway through the movie, Malia had fallen asleep on Stiles, exhaling warm puffs of air against his collarbones. The banshee was staring at the television, one hand stroking absentmindedly through the back of Stiles’ hair. He felt so good that he was either a minute away from falling asleep or purring in contentment.

                They managed to get through a quarter of the next film before everyone started dozing intermittently. Derek had to practically peel his pack off of Stiles and his couch before they would leave. They threw away empty pop cans and chip crumbs, piled the pillows back on the couch, and offered goodbye hugs and kisses to both Stiles and the wolf.

                Derek slid the door closed behind his pack and locked it for the night. Stiles had turned the movie off but was content to watch TV on the warm couch cushions for the rest of the night. The combination of tiredness and the buzz of endorphins from being drowned in his pack’s love dissuaded him leaving Derek or the loft to go downstairs. Tomorrow, but not tonight.  

                The wolf seemed to have similar plans. He settled near Stiles’ feet, where the teen was curled up on his side, cozy and heavy with drowsiness.

                At first, Stiles thought it was a mistake, that Derek’s hand hit his foot when he was making himself comfortable. But the touch continued, until Derek had a loose grip around Stiles’ ankle, his thumb brushing over the protruding bone on the outside.

                Stiles lifted his head, but the wolf didn’t act like anything abnormal was occurring, like he wasn’t caressing his way up the human’s shin.

                “Um. Derek? Are you scent-marking my leg?” The wolf turned his head to face Stiles with a sleepy expression before he looked down at his hand, his eyes widening like the appendage had betrayed him.

                A fine, pretty blush painted Derek’s cheeks, and he instantly pulled his hand away. “Sorry. I…didn’t even realize I was doing it.”

                Stiles sat up, crossing his legs in front of himself. “Is it because I’m ‘injured?’ Your wolf trying to comfort me?”

                Derek sighed. All of a sudden, he looked very tired. “Yeah, that’s part of it.”

                “And the other part?”

                Now, Derek’s expression became sheepish. “I couldn’t smell you.”

                “Because of the human blankets that have been laying all over me tonight?” Stiles chuckled, feeling a warmth bloom in his chest at the thought of _their_ pack. “I’m not surprised.”

                The pack had always been welcoming to him, made him feel included, but it wasn’t until tonight that he fully realized how much they cared for him. Especially considering how long the rest of them had known each other in comparison, how tight-knit they were.  

                “I can smell Lydia and Malia all over your face.” Something about the statement made Stiles blush, spark hot and bright inside even though the comment had been innocent, undirected.  

                “They were just worried. Malia said it was pack healing? Like how wolves, or I guess, some coyotes groom and cuddle injured members of their packs.”

                Derek nodded. “That’s true. They also love you. Want to be close to you when you’re hurt or upset. That’s a human thing, too.” 

                Stiles fidgeted on the couch, a small smile curling his lips. “Yeah, I’m starting to get that. So, you ready?”

                Stiles angled his body towards Derek’s, waiting for the wolf to start scenting him. They didn’t really need words for it anymore; they had done it so many times.

                Derek scooted closer and slipped his hands under Stiles’ shirt, moving them with light sweeps across the teen’s skin.

                “I wanted to go visit my dad soon, if you’re not busy.” His skin horripilated when Derek’s fingers brushed over his ribs. 

                “Sure, just tell me when.” The wolf finished with his torso, skirting carefully around the edges of the bandages on his back. He fixed Stiles’ shirt back into place before moving on to his clavicles.

                Derek’s thumbs pressed into the hollows of his collarbone with deliberate touches, as if he were sculpting, rediscovering something in Stiles’ skin. The teen was saturated in the pack’s scent, ensuring  that Derek lavish more attention on him than usual.

                He kept light pressure on the front of the human’s throat, fingertips following the curves of cartilage. Derek’s skin whispered across his, too soft and smooth to snag on anything in its path. It was a beautiful difference from his own rough hands, thickened and dried with calluses from too many years of overworking them with wood and stone and concrete. Maybe the absence of manual labor had made all the difference for Derek, but Stiles assumed it was another wolf attribute. New cells proliferating and revitalizing too rapidly to harden or accumulate. The wolf had probably saved a fortune on moisturizer.

                Those same hands— _god,_ so nice and warm—pulled Stiles out of his pondering, slipping back to Stiles’ nape where they sunk into the taut and poised muscles there, massaging.

                Breaking the silence, the wolf asked, “Why do you let me do this, Stiles? You don’t have to.”

                Stiles opened his eyes. It was a little difficult to speak with Derek’s fingers smoothing over his cheekbones, but he mumbled, “It’s a small price to pay to keep wolf-Derek happy…Actually, it costs me nothing at all, so why not?”

                Derek seemed to be mulling over something while his fingers circled the orbits of Stiles’ eyes, the touches always gentle over the fragile bone. The hands at his temples were rubbing so perfectly that Stiles felt like he was close to sleep once again.

                “You look like you’re ready for bed.” A subtle amusement colored Derek’s tone.

                “No, don’t stop,” the human muttered, pressing his hands on top of Derek’s to keep them there.

                But the wolf did stop, and Stiles’ eyes slit open to see why the wonderful head rub had ceased. His initial thought was that Derek was being contrary just for the sake of it, but then he noticed how intent Derek’s eyes were on his face, the way his chest was moving a little erratically with heavy but silent breaths.

                Something felt off in the teen’s gut, and he parted his mouth to ask what was wrong but found the wolf’s fingertips pressing lightly against his lips. Stiles’ nervous system seemingly imploded, his hands dropping into his lap, twitching anxiously.  

                Humid, quickened breaths were puffing out from the human’s mouth over Derek’s hand. He stared wordlessly, trying to decipher what was happening between them, his body starting to tremble with undiscerning anticipation. Derek’s eyes were still human but dark and dilated in a way that Stiles had never seen them.

                They were so close to something that Stiles was ready to vibrate out of his skin. The boy knew what _he_ felt, what _he_ wanted, but Derek was still a mystery to him most of the time, unpredictable. He didn’t want to misinterpret this situation.   

                Of course, there was really only one way to find out for sure.

                With his superhuman senses, Derek must have known something was coming. What, with the way Stiles’ heart was pounding against his ribs and the burst of arousal seeping from the pit of his belly. For the first time, Stiles wasn’t worried about hiding or staunching his desire. He wanted to show it to Derek, project it through the air until it permeated every one of the wolf’s senses.

                The teen parted his lips just slightly, just enough to press a soft, warm kiss against Derek’s fingertips.

                Derek…well, Derek just looked completely dumbfounded.

                “Stiles…” It was no more than a whisper.

                The human held onto Derek’s wrist, pressed his cheek against Derek’s knuckles. “I want to.”

                Derek’s face looked pained, and he squeezed his eyes closed. “How am I supposed to say no to you?”

                “You don’t have to,” Stiles breathed, feeling himself shake apart from the inside out.

                “I never wanted this to happen.”

                “Derek, if you don’t want this, I can accept that. But don’t say no because you think you’re protecting me.”

                The were’s face settled into an expression of disapproval, that stressed line appearing between his eyebrows. Stiles moved forward until their knees knocked, and he cradled the wolf’s head in his hands. It was the only way he really seemed to get Derek’s attention.

                “I think this has been a long time coming…and I think I made my mind up a while ago."   

                Derek looked so torn and raw and guilty, and Stiles couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward and kissed Derek’s forehead, right over the disgruntled crease in the middle of his brow. If this was all Stiles could have, then he would take it.

                It was only when he tried to pull back that Stiles felt himself being reeled in, one hand on his nape and the other at his lower back. There was nothing else to do besides crawl into the wolf’s lap and urging arms. Stiles was so beyond fighting this that he wasn’t sure if Derek was pulling or if he was pushing.  

                His knees pressed into the couch cushion on either side of Derek’s legs, his thighs bracketing the outside of Derek’s so that he could feel all of the delicious heat seeping from the wolf. Slowly, he lowered himself into the firm embrace of Derek’s body, sturdy arms holding him in place at his hips.  

                Derek had buried his face in Stiles’ neck, nuzzling like Malia had done. But there was no comparison to how Derek’s beard rasped across his throat, stirring up small bursts of pleasure. The following hint of tongue across his pulse made the boy’s breath hitch, until he was shaking too hard to do anything but sink his hands into Derek’s hair, thick and wild.

                The quivering in Stiles’ lips didn’t stop until he tugged the wolf’s hair and coaxed his face up to his own. They met in a kiss, long and shallow and a little tentative. Stiles released a small, shattered noise into Derek’s mouth and begged for it to fade away unnoticed. Stiles had kissed a girl named Heather once when he was fourteen, before they switched projects and never saw one another again. That kiss and this one didn’t even belong in the same celestial galaxy.   

                When they broke apart for fresh air, Derek nudged their foreheads together gently. “Okay?”

                Stiles couldn’t ignore the roughness, the lowness of Derek’s voice, how he was going cross-eyed from gazing in awe at the deep, appealing red of the wolf’s mouth.  

                The human nodded and whispered, “Again, again, again.” The introduction of teeth and tongue had Stiles panting, clamping his legs even tighter around Derek.

                In between kisses, Derek ducked under Stiles’ jaw to pull on his earlobe with his teeth, murmuring in this wounded, pleading voice. “I can smell how wet you are. Already.”

                Stiles’ cheeks burned at the comment, the novelty of being the subject of someone’s desire. It had happened once before, in the alley, with the stranger who had slung his lascivious words at Stiles like a weapon, whose lust was corrupted and dark. Derek’s remark wasn’t belittling or intimidating, his voice bittersweet, filled with a wonder and a devotion that made Stiles feel powerful and wanted.

                “I can’t help it. ’s so good,” the boy slurred.  

                The distinct sound of a low growl filled the air before Derek dipped back to the human’s neck, kissing the skin, following teasing bites with soothing licks of his tongue. A firm sucking pressure under the hinge of his jaw made Stiles whimper and his hands quake against Derek’s shoulders.

                God, he was losing his inhibitions about not letting Derek mark him anywhere his father would see it, and everything was getting dizzy and balmy. Stiles knew that he was going to embarrass himself, but he had hoped that he wouldn’t pass out before they even had their pants off.  

                “Bed?” Derek murmured, still unable to pull himself away from Stiles’ throat, one of the places where the boy’s scent was potent and undiluted.

                “Wait, wait, Derek.” Stiles twined his fingers through Derek’s hair, kissed away the worried look in Derek’s eyes before the wolf thought he had done anything wrong. “I’ve never…” Stiles gestured between the two of them, praying that Derek understood what he meant.

                The wolf’s face dropped, looking adorably puzzled. “Why would I care about that?...Unless you don’t want me to—”

                “No, no, god,” Stiles protested, pressing their foreheads together. “I just—I have no idea what I’m doing.”

                Derek exhaled softly, trailing his hands up Stiles’ sides, his voice rich and quiet. “I was scenting you ten minutes ago because I couldn’t stand the traces of my closest friends on your skin. Did you really think I would care that nobody’s touched you before?”

                “I never really thought of it like that.”

                “That’s because you don’t have my instincts.” Derek released a controlled breath. 

                “What are they telling you to do?” The boy murmured softly, punctuating every few words with a simple kiss to a part of Derek’s face.

                A pair of glowing blue eyes responded. “They’re telling me to fuck you into my mattress and keep you all to myself. Let no one else have you.” The words were a little garbled around a mouthful of elongating fangs.

                Stiles swallowed as delicately as he could, his heart picking up. The teen could imagine the scent of arousal thickening, sweetening in the air, what it must be like for Derek right now. “Are you going to do that?” His voice was airy and brittle, his throat choked with longing.

                “No,” Derek rumbled, running his hands firmly along the curve of Stiles’ thighs and hips.

                “Oh.” Stiles couldn’t deny that he was a little crestfallen when that proposition was torn away. Personally, it had sounded like a great plan. But he could spend the rest of night doing nothing but kissing Derek’s sweet mouth, and be happy.  

                Just when Stiles was starting to get his breath back, he found Derek’s grip tightening around him, lifting him like he weighed nothing. His body was so sure and capable, the evident strength surging and rolling underneath Stiles’ hold.

                Even with his wolf’s impulses surfacing, Derek deposited him on the bed with absolute care, always mindful of the bandaged skin underneath Stiles’ shirt. With the plush covers and mattress underneath him, he relaxed his legs until they slipped from around Derek’s waist, leaving Stiles in a sprawled pile. The wolf crawled forward until he was hovering over him, fingers slipping under the hem of Stiles’ shirt so that the teen jolted. The action was so similar to the scenting that had occurred only minutes earlier, but the intent was drastically different.

                 Derek’s hot, solid weight was right above him, the wolf’s hands branding his skin wherever they went. “I want to, Stiles. _God,_ you don’t know how much I want to.” Stiles had an idea. He could feel the hard line of Derek’s cock pressed against his hip.  

                “We could. We can.” Stiles shivered, rolling his hips just enough to press their erections together, tearing soft groans from each of them.  

                Strong hands pinned Stiles’ pelvis to the mattress, and Stiles felt his cock twitch in need. A suffering moan forced itself from his mouth, and he bit into the pillow of his bottom lip. He’d had his first taste of friction, and he needed more. More of Derek’s heat and comforting weight and his confident hands.

                Derek shook his head, having regained some control. His fangs had withdrawn, but his eyes kept flashing. “I can’t, baby. I won’t be able to stop myself from knotting you.”

                Stiles felt his eyes widen. “Knot—”

                “Yes. Just let me take care of you tonight. I promise I will.” All the while, Derek had been pressing soft, maddening kisses all over Stiles’ neck in some sort of apology.

                “I know you will. It’s okay. Here, just—” Stiles was trying to wiggle out of his shirt, and Derek stripped him out of it efficiently, a cursory graze down his back ensuring that the gauze had stayed in place.

                He tugged at the bottom of Derek’s shirt, hoping the wolf would follow his lead, but Derek was staring at him openly, gazing his fill at Stiles’ speckled, fair skin, his subtle musculature. Zoning in on a particular area of Stiles’ torso for a few moments in contemplation before dropping down languidly to take a nipple into his mouth.

                His nipples were one of the erogenous zones the human had never really explored before, and he didn’t realize how _sensitive_ they would be. At the first flick of Derek’s tongue, Stiles’ back arched off of the bed. He was strung so tight, his skin tingling with a newfound source of pleasure.

                Derek was well on his way to making Stiles cry, reducing him to tears and mortifying noises with his skillful hands and merciless mouth. He was wringing every ounce of gratification he could from Stiles, alternating between kisses and kitten licks and tugging bites, never letting his nipple soften. With his fingers, he twisted the other nub, keeping it perky and erect under his circling fingertips.

                Meanwhile, Stiles was breathing raggedly, his eyes forced shut. If he had to watch Derek, he would probably lose his mind. He could feel precome oozing out of the head of his cock, leaking over the sensitive skin and dampening the front of his underwear. His hips were thrusting pitifully at the thin air, Derek leaning over his side and holding him still with one hand. It was sublime torture.

                Derek only stopped when Stiles honest-to-god _whined_ , his nipples now itchy and tender and aching, pulsing in synchronization with the throbbing of his dick. 

                “Please, Derek. Please.” Stiles didn’t know what he was even asking for, but Derek needed to do something. Touch him, rub against him, anything. Stiles’ entire body was sparking with the electricity and sensation of firing neurons.  

                “I’ve got you. Trust me, baby.” Derek kissed him and pulled away to shrug his own shirt off. Stiles instantly followed him into a sitting position, drawn in by the temptation of Derek’s naked skin. Stiles looked his fill, feeling like he finally, actually had permission to ogle, tracking every twitch of muscle and jut of bone, possibly drooling at one point.  

                Stiles asked tentatively, kneeling in front of Derek, “Can I touch you?” 

                “Go ahead.” Derek’s laugh was warm, one of his hands curling gently into the back of Stiles’ hair, rubbing at his scalp.

                Stiles petted over smooth, warm skin, feeling muscles jump under his touch. He surged forward and sucked experimentally at Derek’s Adam’s apple, hearing a deep rumble in the wolf’s throat, their hips colliding in a slow grind.

                A sudden desperation bubbled inside of Stiles, and he rolled Derek onto his back, the wolf going compliantly. He dropped his hands to the button of Derek’s jeans, looking up at the wolf for any reason to stop. Derek’s chest was rising rapidly, his breaths full and excited, eyes tracking Stiles’ movements intently.

                The only thing that could overtake Stiles’ inexperience was his inexhaustible curiosity, so he skirted a hand over the bulge in the front of Derek’s pants, cupping him tenderly. The soft moan it pulled from Derek had Stiles aching inside, replaying the image of Derek’s fluttering eyelashes over and over in his head. He could stand to hear a noise like that from the wolf about a billion more times.   

                With only moderate difficulty, Stiles removed Derek’s jeans, struggling when they bunched on the wolf’s left ankle. Derek was laughing under his breath, making Stiles’ guts clench in embarrassment  until the were murmured affectionately, “You drive me crazy.” Stiles buried his face in the crook of Derek’s knee, unable to show himself yet. It was completely ridiculous that Stiles felt so exposed when Derek was spread out naked in front of him.

                The damn wolf seemed completely comfortable, ruffling the back of Stiles’ hair to relax him. Beautiful and strong and exquisite without a single thread on him, one arm tucked underneath his head so that he could watch Stiles stumble through every motion. Stiles kind of wanted to smack him, but the feeling didn’t last long.

                 Stiles had tried not to, honestly, but he found himself staring for a disproportionate amount of time at Derek’s cock. It was nearly impossible to not compare it to his own. Thicker, and uncut, which made sense for a werewolf. Straining against one stunningly bony hip, flushed dark with arousal. Could he call it pretty? All of Derek was pretty, Stiles was finding out, but it probably wasn’t the word that Derek was looking for to describe himself. The human was just so utterly unprepared.  

                He tore his eyes away, cheeks hot and incriminating. He sensed Derek move in his periphery and flicked his eyes back to the wolf’s face. Much safer territory.  

                Derek had raised himself up onto his elbows, that troubled crease digging in between his eyebrows again.

                “Are you worried about the knot? I can cover myself, if it’ll make you uncomfortable.” Stiles gracelessly crawled back up the bed, close to Derek’s side. It was the most blasphemous idea that Stiles had ever heard. Covering up a body like that.

                “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

                Derek shifted his weight, as if he was agitated, and replied, “You took my pants off, and then you started to look traumatized.”

                “I wouldn’t change a thing about you.” Derek must have felt his sincerity because he was dragged into a series of deep kisses that made his head swim, his core clench.   

                The wolf pulled away with slick lips. “Your turn.”

                Stiles was beyond ready to be naked. He wanted to feel all of Derek’s skin sliding against his. And with the adoring glances and hungry eyes and praising words from the were, he wasn’t that nervous.

                And yet, the thought of being completely bare in front of Derek, unable to hide anything, completely at the wolf’s mercy…it was a little nerve-wracking.   

                The human winced at the cold floor underneath his feet when he pulled off his socks. He kept his eyes to the ground, concentrating on his hands as they fumbled with the button on his jeans.

                “Hey. Calm down.” Derek’s voice was chiding but soft, no real force in it. “Slowly.”  

                Stiles’ face blazed, hot enough to melt a candle. He couldn’t _do_ sexy, not with his gangly limbs and lack of coordination. The thought of trying to do some semblance of an erotic striptease made his stomach drop.

                Derek could smell it, the stress and the self-doubt. In a flash of predator grace, he was sitting on the side of the bed, his legs hanging over  the side. He ensnared the human with gentle hands, pulled Stiles close until his face was rubbing along the teen’s belly.

                Stiles shivered, the coarse hair of Derek’s beard against delicate skin generating pinpricks of pleasure. His hands tangled into Derek’s hair, where they eventually always found their way back.

                “I can’t—Can you help me?” His voice was so small that one wrong word would have probably shattered him at that moment.  

                The wolf notched his chin into the soft skin of Stiles’ stomach and looked up at him, his hands still smoothing lazy patterns over his lower back. “Of course.”

                Derek buried his face into the skin next to the boy’s hipbone, sucking a livid pink mark that made Stiles’ breath stutter, his hands tighten in the wolf’s hair. With deft fingers, Derek snapped and pulled at the fastenings of the jeans until Stiles felt them sliding down his thighs. A tap on each calf told him when to lift his foot.

                He was left in his underwear, feeling them cling to his hips and thighs and the front of his wet cock, when Derek slid a finger under the waistband and snapped the elastic. Stiles made a small, disgruntled noise, and the warm breath from Derek’s laugh splashed over his skin.

                “Sorry, sorry,” he hushed. “Okay?”

                “’m fine,” Stiles mumbled, head tilted back, eyes closed, just enjoying the caress of Derek’s hands.

                Derek began tugging gently downwards, giving the teen time to stop him. Stiles kept his hands rooted in Derek’s hair, his heart thumping quicker with every inch his underwear lowered. Derek peeled the fabric away from his cock, letting it bob in the cooler air of the apartment.

                Stiles couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t breathe for a few seconds; it was too much. He peeked when the wolf started stroking the outsides of his thighs, and his ribs, teasing around every place Stiles was too hesitant to ask him to touch.

                “You look so good,” Derek rasped, nuzzling the side of his face into Stiles’ hip, staring at his cock with something akin to longing.

                “Thanks,” Stiles laughed lightly, eyes towards the ceiling, face hot and pink. He started when he felt the wet trail of Derek’s tongue glide across the inside of his thigh.

                “Stiles, you tell me to stop at any time, and I will.” Derek leaned in to press a smattering of soft kisses onto his thighs before looking up to find the human’s eyes. “Okay, baby?”

                “Okay.” Stiles was nodding vigorously, waiting for Derek to touch him, to feel fireworks shoot under his skin again.  

                The wolf kept his eyes on Stiles, his expression sweet and unthreatening and innocent. Like he couldn’t wreck the teen down to a writhing mess, like he couldn’t tell that Stiles’ cock was pulsing, beading precome, how hard he was already.

                Derek placed a reverent kiss underneath the boy’s navel and then wrapped his hand around the base of Stiles’ cock.

                A strangled sound escaped from Stiles’ mouth, and he thought his knees might give out. And it turned out that Derek’s hand was nothing compared to his mouth. His actions were purposeful, how he licked the precome out of the boy’s slit before suckling the head with a steady pressure that made Stiles’ legs tremble and his breaths shallow.

                Always observant, Derek pulled off so that Stiles could scramble onto the bed, eager to get that soft, wet mouth back around him. The wolf pushed at his legs until he planted his feet, Derek’s shoulders nudging between them until he had enough space. Stiles felt uniquely exposed, his heart and head all aflutter, and he was starting to wonder how Derek was going to manage his cock when both of his hands were anchored around Stiles’ thighs. To answer his question, Derek simply swallowed him down to the root. And Stiles _keened._

                Stiles’ mouth fell slack, his throat constricting to silence, eyes glistening with desire and wonderment. The tip of Derek’s nose pressed into his pubic hair every time he bobbed forward, slow and steady, taking the human’s cock to the back of his throat. Once, Derek let Stiles’ cock fall from his mouth to take a breath, slick strings of saliva and precome caught between Derek’s lips and his cockhead, his face so lovely and pink from his exertions.  

                Stiles’ eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head when the wolf merely licked his lips and  dropped back onto his dick. The teen was itching to move his hips, grind his cock farther into Derek’s mouth. Every time he tapped the back of Derek’s throat, Stiles felt himself get closer and closer to orgasm, right on the cusp.

                The muscles tightened in his belly and a pressure built at the base of his spine, that insistent throb in his core telling him that he was almost there.

                “Derek, Derek,” he whispered urgently, tugging on the dark mane between his legs. “You’re gonna make me come.”

                With a slick pop, the wolf pulled off of his cock, leaving him wet and cold and aching.

                “Not yet,” Derek soothed, crawling farther up the bed. “Hold on just a little longer.” The were scooted back down after grabbing a bottle from his nightstand.  

                “Is that…?” Stiles studied the bottle of lubricant in Derek’s hand, noting that about half of it was gone. Inquiries would need to be made at some point in the future because the thought of Derek working himself to orgasm made Stiles hot enough for his cock to leak.

                Without ceremony, Derek licked a searing line up the underneath of his cock, wrenching Stiles’ hips up to follow that mouth, his back arching. It was painfully good, unparalleled, Stiles curling his toes until they cramped.

                The sudden pressure at his hole was new. Derek’s slick finger pressing against him, not trying to push inside yet but just letting Stiles feel it. Well, Stiles had never felt anything like it, and he answered with a sharp jerk of his hips that choked Derek.

                “Oh god, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” Stiles rubbed his thumbs tenderly at the corner of the were’s lips, where his mouth was still stretched wide around the teen’s dick. Derek just closed his eyes with a blissful expression and hummed around Stiles’ cock.

                “Jesus.” The finger at his rim started moving in slow circles, spreading the lube around. Stiles needed more, wasn’t even sure if he’d like it, but his hole was clenching desperately under the pad of Derek’s finger. The wolf made a pleased little moan around Stiles’ cock, and a shudder wracked Stiles’ body.

                “Please, Derek. _Please_. I don’t wanna come until you’re inside of me.”

                Derek’s index finger pressed deeper, deeper until it bypassed resistant muscle, and then he just glided in with a slow, inexorable twist. Little groans and bursts of breath were spilling out of Stiles, and he spread his knees even wider, giving Derek more room to work.

                He sensed the tense outline of Derek’s shoulders and dropped a hand to the wolf’s nape. “I’m fine. Please keep going.”

                Stiles barely had time to adjust to the feeling of Derek’s finger withdrawing before the wolf pushed back in with two. He writhed, unsure of whether to move towards Derek’s mouth or farther onto his fingers, and the new, delicious burn and stretch pulled the muscles tight in his belly.

                Derek crooked his fingers, pressing hard somewhere deep inside, and his throat fluttered around Stiles, and the teen was done.

                He didn’t even have time to warn Derek, his orgasm torn from his core, where he was hot and pulsing and aching. Stiles came with harsh breaths, shuddering and shallow. Couldn’t get any other sound to come out.

                Derek was drinking down his come like it was the most natural thing in the world, his fingers still massaging relentlessly at what had to be his prostate.

                Stiles mewled, overly sensitive and overwhelmed, heart beating loud in his ears. Derek’s fingers slipped out of him, making Stiles wince from the emptiness. It was a strange feeling, but it was well worth it.

                Derek slithered up Stiles’ body until he was pushing the boy’s hair off of his damp forehead.

                “Good?” Derek’s voice was soft, loving. He was genuinely invested in Stiles’ pleasure, in the confirmation that he had satisfied the boy. That knowledge made Stiles’ chest tighten, it was so beautiful.

                He nodded fervently, still breathless, smiling and pulling Derek in for a sweet kiss. He dipped his tongue into Derek’s mouth tentatively, his curiosity getting the better of him. And yes, he could taste the traces of his come in the wolf’s mouth, a little bitter and salty.

                “Can-can I take care of you?” Stiles mumbled against Derek’s lips.

                Several seconds passed by before Derek responded. “Only if you want to.”

                Stiles pecked at the corner of Derek’s mouth before reaching down for his cock, so warm, so hard. The wolf had been hanging on for a while, devoutly focused on making Stiles come harder than he ever had before.

                Derek sighed, his eyes rolling back, providing Stiles with one of the most erotic images he had ever been blessed with. He would not be forgetting this sight. Derek’s fan of dark lashes against his cheeks, mouth parted, neck muscles taut and corded.

                Stiles was so hypnotized by the wolf’s face and his hushed moansthat he didn’t fully acknowledge his hand slipping to the base of Derek’s cock, wider than he had expected—        

                “Wow,” Stiles exhaled, looking down between their bodies to inspect Derek’s swollen knot, shiny where the skin was pulled tight, rosy from the hot blood pumping underneath.

                Before Derek could even protest, Stiles wiggled down the bed until he was at the level of Derek’s hip.

                “Does it hurt? Did I hurt you?” The human flicked his eyes back to Derek, suddenly worried. The knot just looked so engorged, so _full._

                Derek shook his head, breathing out a laugh. He combed through the back of Stiles’ hair with one hand. “Feels really good. When I squeeze it.”

                Stiles whimpered a little, in the back of his throat. “Are you close? Because it wasn’t there before—I didn’t even do anything…”

                Derek’s laugh rumbled through his chest, making his abs flex and contract. It was so unfair. “You didn’t have to,” he replied, face adorning a warm smile that made his eyes crinkle at the edges. “You taste good, smell even better. So beautiful.”

                The wolf pushed his hips up into Stiles’ hand, like just thinking about the teen was getting him hot and needy. Stiles’ dick twitched valiantly, but even he couldn’t go again this soon.

                Stiles pulled on Derek’s cock with one slow stroke, making the wolf groan and drop his head back.

                “I wonder…” Stiles murmured to himself and then leaned in to press a plush, wet kiss against the side of Derek’s knot.

                “ _Fuck,_ Stiles.” The boy snapped his head up, taking in the sight of Derek’s lupine eyes. There was even a hint of fang protruding over his bottom lip.

                “When you’re alone, do you knot your hand?”

                The wolf growled and thrust his hips into Stiles’ palm again. The human heard the quick pants, could see a glistening sheen of sweat on Derek’s forehead from where he was.

                “Haven’t done it since I was teenager. Not since I popped my first knot. But then you came…,” he swallowed, voice wrecked and husky, and Stiles’ gut quivered with want. “I woke up every night that first week, rutting into the sheets, dreaming of you clutching around me.”

                The human had to release a wisp of moan at that, from somewhere deep and animal inside of himself, urging Derek on.

                “Had to fuck against the mattress so I could fist my knot. And you were just upstairs, and I wanted you _so_ badly.”

                Derek had to be close, strained noises leaving his mouth between the words, his hips practically lifting off of the bed to meet Stiles’ hand.

                “It’s okay,” Stiles whispered, breath hot, sweat recollecting at his temples. “Touch yourself for me now.”

                The wolf started pumping his cock fiercely, and Stiles cupped his hands around Derek’s throbbing knot, squeezing and kneading the feverish flesh with his palms and fingertips.

                It only took a few seconds before Derek came, grunting, shooting thick, white streams of come onto his stomach and Stiles’ forearms. The wolf’s chest was heaving like he had just come back from one of his runs.

                “Come ’ere,” Derek croaked, outstretching one hand. Stiles crawled up to Derek’s side, their bodies still sticky with come.

                “You can rub it in if you want.” Derek’s expressive brows lifted, and Stiles fumbled over his words. “I mean, I’m not trying to assume it’s a thing for all wolves, but I thought you might like it.” The book still hidden under his pillow was a credible source.

                Derek swiped a finger through a trail of come on Stiles’ wrist and touched it to the teen’s lips in a simple offering. He opened his mouth, flicking his tongue against the pad of Derek’s fingertip, saw those earth-tone eyes widen. Maybe Derek had been trying to call his bluff.

                “You’re going to smell like me for days.” It wasn’t hard to notice the pleased undertone in Derek’s voice.

                “The pack’s going to know in a second,” Stiles groaned, thumping his forehead against Derek’s perfectly muscled shoulder. He really hadn’t thought about that until right now.

                “Only Scott…and Malia…and maybe Kira.”

                “And Lydia is a freaking genius, of course she’ll know.”

                Derek’s torso shook with his laughter. “Yeah, everyone’s going to know.” Derek was smiling, looking carefree and so goddamn beautiful the way he always did when he was a little worn and ruffled. It choked Stiles’ heart, and he had to kiss Derek over and over so that he wouldn’t say anything stupid.

                “We have to tell your dad, too.”

                Stiles grumbled and rolled bodily onto the wolf, mashing his face into the crook of Derek’s neck. Hands started massaging his shoulder blades and the knots in his lower back, making the boy just melt.

                Reluctantly, Stiles turned his face to the side so he could mumble into Derek’s throat. “I know. He shouldn’t hear it from Scott or Melissa.”

                “We can tell him when we go to visit.”

                Suddenly, the human rose up onto his elbows, making Derek grunt at the repositioning of his weight. Stiles was grinning, baring his teeth to Derek.

                “What?”

                “I just realized. We’re having a normal-people problem. I’m nervous about telling my dad about my boyfriend. Nothing horrible or morbid or life-threatening.” Stiles was still beaming like a lunatic when his brain finally caught up to his mouth. His face rapidly fell into a mask of horror. “Jesus. I didn’t mean that we were—”

                “Stiles.” Derek was cradling the teen’s face, directing his eyes to his own. “If I just wanted to fuck you, I wouldn’t insist on telling your father. Besides, that’s not what I want. I want more from you than just this.”

                “Oh,” Stiles breathed out. “Okay. Good.” He nestled back onto Derek’s chest, starting to feel cold and tacky and tired.

                “We need to take a shower,” Derek announced, echoing his thoughts.

                “Take it with me?” Stiles murmured hopefully. The wolf had to practically drag him out of bed with Stiles just slouching against him unhelpfully as Derek got the water temperature just right.

                Stiles’ front was facing the stream of steaming water, and he made a little hum of pleasure when it sluiced over his hair and his shoulders. Derek had insisted that he didn’t need to stand under it because he never got cold.

                They washed each other with affectionate strokes of their hands, and Stiles found express pleasure in shampooing Derek’s hair.

                Afterwards, Derek wrapped him in the biggest towel he had, and Stiles made sure he wasn’t dripping water everywhere when he scampered upstairs to change into his clothes for bed. The fabric was soft and loose and warm, and he shuddered because he felt so content right now.

                Derek was just finishing pulling a new sheet on the bed, one that wasn’t smeared with come and lube. The bedspread had remained intact somehow. Stiles didn’t know if Derek heard him or smelt the subtle arousal seeping out of his skin, but the wolf turned around in nothing but that torturous pair of low-hanging, black sweatpants.

                He raised his eyebrow questioningly at Stiles. Goddamn werewolves and their chemosignals.

                “Um, I didn’t know if you, um, wanted me to—I was coming down to say goodnight either way, but—”

                Derek rolled his eyes, but it was a with a fond exasperation. “Get in.” Well that settled that conversation.

                Stiles leapt onto the side facing the windows, loving to wake up to the sun streaming into the room. He snuggled under the covers, smelling the clean, crisp scent of the sheets and of Derek on his pillow. Stiles settled onto his stomach because he couldn’t fall asleep any other way, and Derek sidled up close to him, laying over him just enough so that his face was pressing into Stiles’ shoulder blade, wary of his scratches.

                “Good?”

                Stiles grinned shamelessly into his pillow. “Perfect.” 


	15. Chapter 15

                Stiles’ palms were sweating profusely on the car ride to Scott’s house. No matter how many times he wiped them on the knees of his jeans, the sweat kept oozing from his pores.

                “Stiles, it’s going to be fine,” Derek insisted, sensing his anxiety.

                “You’re the only boyfriend I’ve ever had. I don’t know how he’s going to react.” Half of the extravagant gesturing from Stiles’ hands was completely nonsensical and unnecessary. “Not to mention the fact that you’re a Supernatural. And a grown man. Oh my god.” The human thumped his head against the headrest.

                Derek’s eyes slipped from the road for a second to see Stiles chewing his fingernails down to the nail bed, tapping his foot manically in the passenger’s seat.

                “Your dad loves you more than anything on this planet. Besides, he’s probably going to be angry at me, not you.”

                They parked along the side of the street, in front of Melissa’s house. John had made a habit of preparing the meals, his own restlessness with his newfound freedom driving him to activity. However, his son and his nurse had both agreed that he needed to avoid strenuous tasks, so he cooked. It also took the burden off of Melissa, who worked such long and irregular hours that it was difficult to feed herself, let alone her employed son and their new houseguest.   

                So, Stiles sat through an agonizing dinner, shoving as much macaroni and cheese down his throat as he could, his stomach feeling like a knot of squirming worms. He knew his father would never shun him or stop loving him; they shared an unconditional closeness. He just wanted _the talk_ over with already. The loose ends of the situation were driving him crazy.

                After loading the dirty dishes into the sink, Stiles pulled his father into the front hallway off of the kitchen.    

                “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

                His dad squinted his eyes with a weariness, a habit of living in an Industry for nearly fifty years. Any news was rarely good news for a human.  

                Stiles called out behind them, “Melissa, I’ll get the dishes in a few minutes.”

                “Don’t worry about it. Go ahead, honey.” Stiles heard the water running from the sink and the clank of glasses.

                Stiles ushered his father towards the second floor where they would have a little more privacy. Scott was working, so they would have the upstairs to themselves. His father paused on the stairs when he noticed Derek trailing behind them.

                “Stiles, what’s going on?”

                “Oh…we both need to talk to you actually. Derek and I.” His father grunted before walking to his room.

                Derek stopped just inside the doorway, crossing his arms over his muscled chest. It was enough to distract Stiles for a few seconds before the anxiety crept back in.

                His father was also standing, squaring off against Derek in a not-so-subtle manner, mimicking his stance. “Okay, Stiles, talk.”

                Stiles started pacing. He would not be able to summon the words he needed standing still, not when he was coursing with nervous energy. “Well, you see, dad. It’s just that I-I need to tell you—It’s not even a big deal, really—well, I mean it _is_ but not in a—”

                “ _Stiles_.” His father’s exasperated tone anchored him to the spot. The teen swallowed and then stated with only a slight tremor in his voice, “Derek and I are together.”

                Instantly, his father’s expression darkened, and he glared at the wolf. “What did you do? Did you force yourself on him?” John’s fists clenched at his side.

                Stiles was fish-mouthing in complete confusion. That was not the first thing he expected to hear. “Dad, no—”

                The man turned his wrath from Derek and strode forward to his son, holding the outsides of Stiles’ arms. His face softened with concern. “Stiles, is he coercing you, threatening to hurt you or me?” John’s voice was quiet, but Derek would undoubtedly still be able to hear it.

                “No,” Stiles exclaimed. “It’s completely consensual. One hundred percent mutually consensual.”

                Meanwhile, Derek had seemingly expected such a reaction because he was accepting the accusations in silence, his calm expression never flickering.

                John’s face was still pinched with displeasure when he turned back to the wolf. “You do know he’s barely nineteen. You’re older than him.”

                “I’m twenty-seven, sir,” Derek confirmed.

                “What exactly do you want with my nineteen-year-old son?” John spat venomously, like he knew _exactly_ what the werewolf wanted.  

                The teen slid in between them, wanting to shield Derek from his father’s allegations. It was hard enough already convincing Derek that he wasn’t a monster. “Dad, think of what you’re saying. Think of everything that Derek’s done for us.”

                “Stiles, it’s okay,” Derek assured quietly.

                “It’s not. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He turned back to his father, his eyes pleading and sincere. “I made this decision on my own. It was my choice.”  

                His father reluctantly backed down, sighing the exhausted sigh of a parent. “Alright…alright. I still want to talk to you, Stiles. Alone.” With the last word, he pointedly flicked his gaze to the wolf.

                Stiles gave Derek’s hand a quick squeeze. As the wolf was leaving, John called to him.

                “Hale, I can’t ignore what you’ve done for me and my son. We’re together now because of you. But if you treat him any less than he deserves, I will come after you, werewolf or not.”

                “I know, sir.” Stiles’ father huffed and nodded in assent, the two of them reaching a temporary truce. “I’ll help Melissa finish up downstairs.” Derek closed the door behind them, leaving Stiles and his father alone.

                John sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing over his face, and patted the space next to him for Stiles.

                “I know you’ve never really had the opportunity to date like a Supernatural teenager, but a werewolf, Stiles?” The anger had left his father’s voice, only to be replaced with a yearning to understand.

                “He cares about me, Dad,” Stiles said softly. He looked up from his lap to his dad’s face. “I care about him…And we didn’t plan this. It just happened.”

                “You’d tell me if he ever hurt you, wouldn’t you?”

                “He wouldn’t,” Stiles answered with conviction. John raised his hands in surrender and waited patiently for Stiles to continue. “There’s a lot you don’t know, and Derek’s pretty hard on himself on a good day. So trust me when I say that he won’t hurt me.”

                “I do trust you, kiddo.” John wrapped his arm around Stiles, squeezing the ball of his shoulder in reassurance.

                “It’s all really new, and I don’t know what’s going to happen…But he makes me happy.” Stiles’ cheeks warmed slightly. This was not a conversation he ever really pictured having with his father.

                His dad released another, gentler sigh, leaning the side of his face against the crown of his son’s head. “I think you deserve a little happiness.”

                On their way out, Melissa kissed both Stiles and Derek on the cheek. The teen and his father embraced one last time, and John managed to shake Derek’s hand goodbye with only a hint of malice in his expression.

                In the car, Stiles laughed, the rest of the tension leaving his body with it. “That actually wasn’t too bad.” 

                Derek glanced at him and smiled, intertwining their fingers across the console.

                “You were pretty cool back there,” Stiles mentioned, his insides flooding with pride and affection. He cast a sideways glance at his wolf.

                “Stiles, your father is in arguably the worst position possible. He’s a human parent. He knows what happens to the kids, especially the young and beautiful ones, and he can’t do anything to protect you. Because, as your owner, I have more claim to you than he does.” Derek stared intently at the road for a few moments before adding, “Of course he’s going to fight for you.”

                Stiles bit his lip. “I know he’ll come around soon. He likes you, believe it or not.”

                Derek grinned privately, secretly. “I may have already started getting myself onto your dad’s good side.”   

                “When he was threatening you?” Stiles ticked off on one finger, “or when he was pretending to stab you a hundred times with the mere power of his eyes?”

                “For starters, I didn’t call him out for sleeping in Melissa’s room for the last few weeks.”  

                Stiles whipped his head to the driver’s side so quickly he felt it crack. “ _What_?”

                “There is no other explanation why Melissa has that many air fresheners in her bedroom. Besides, your father’s scent is faint in the spare room, like he hardly spends time in there.”

                “ _Oh my god_ ,” Stiles whined, thumping his head against the headrest again. And what was Derek doing? Chuckling.  

                “I have a feeling that next time we’re over, your dad and Melissa are going to need to have a talk with _you._ ”

                “Does Scott know?”  

                “Of course. Who do you think the air fresheners are for?” Derek quipped. “They were going to tell you tonight, but we kind of stole the spotlight.”

                Stiles watched the town rush by through the tinted window, a smile dragging at his lips. “Well, he deserves a little happiness. They both do. Who am I to stand in the way of that?”

                Derek simply squeezed his hand in response.

* * *

                The pack’s reaction later that week was completely different from his father’s. Stiles wasn’t really sure which one he preferred.

                Scott had been all smiles and dimples and hugs, waggling his eyebrows knowingly as he said, “Hey, buddy.” Stiles’ cheeks had flushed violently.

                Malia had crossed her arms, nostrils flaring and nose scrunching, before calling out a “really?” in an unimpressed tone and wrangling Derek into a sturdy embrace.

                Lydia had given Stiles her perfunctory kiss on the cheek and muttered, “finally,” as she released him and gave Derek a warm hug.

                Bless her heart, Kira had blushed as hard as Stiles, still so shy and sweet. Her pretty, slim hand gripped his and squeezed as she wished him a “congratulations.”

                And then it was done. Accepted. Without any hesitation or refusal. Derek and Stiles were together now, and the pack was nothing but gracious—if not excited—about it.

                Stiles had decided to release Scott from the burden of his secret that night, telling the Alpha that he knew about their parents’…intermingling. Scott had only doubled the enthusiasm of his hug and called them brothers.


	16. Chapter 16

               Derek had spent the better part of an hour trying to explain to him what to expect for the full moon tomorrow. Uncharacteristically, there had been a lot of stumbling and stuttering over words, gaps of silence where Derek’s brow furrowed and he looked upset with himself. With every passing minute, Stiles’ heart cracked a little further in empathy. His wolf was just…he was trying _so hard_ to find the words that he wanted.

                Aside from not being squirreled away in the bedroom upstairs, Stiles didn’t really expect this full moon to be that much different from the last two, but he was still a little nervous. In the past, both nights had culminated in some sort of fight between them, and the negative association was difficult to shake off at first.

                But Stiles had hoped that since they were intimate now, he could be around to help Derek through his full moons, support him in any way that he needed.  

                Apparently, that was the problem.

                “So, are you saying you _do_ want me around tomorrow…or that you _don’t_ want me around? I can’t really tell.” Stiles eyes were squinted in confusion, and he begrudgingly admitted to himself that he probably looked exactly like his dad.

                “No, I do,” Derek promised, taking his boyfriend’s hand. “I just wanted to warn you, so there are no surprises.”

                Stiles could see precisely what Derek had been hinting at for the last forty-five minutes of one very convoluted conversation. He sighed. “You think you’re gonna scare me off?”

                 Derek’s forehead creased in his misery, like talking about this was as enjoyable as swallowing glass. What was even more shocking was that he seemed embarrassed, judging by the warm pinkness of his cheeks.

                “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’ll be like tomorrow now that I can—It’s just that I never thought that we would be together.” The wolf was staring with intense concentration at the concrete floor, maybe praying that it would swallow him up at any moment.

                “You’re as fluffy and playful as a kitt—puppy,” Stiles quickly amended, “As a puppy on the full moon. So what, if you’re a little more affectionate tomorrow or you need to scent me more than usual? I’m okay with all of those things. What are you actually worried about?” Stiles used their tangled fingers to pull Derek’s hand to his mouth, kissing his knuckles, watching the were’s shoulders slump in submission.

                “I don’t want you to think of me…as an animal. Like I have no control over myself.” Derek rubbed his hand across the back of his neck in a way that was so impossibly vulnerable that Stiles couldn’t bear it.

                He slid close to the wolf, nudging his forehead against Derek’s cheek like the latter did to him sometimes.

                Stiles smiled softly. “I don’t think you’re an animal,” he murmured. “You don’t have to be this model of perfect control all of the time. You can let go a little, be spontaneous, maybe impulsive. And you can trust me to take care of you, to make sure you don’t go too far.” Stiles finished with his forehead tipped against Derek’s temple, his lips close to the wolf’s sensitive ear. “I could be an anchor for you if you’d let me.”

                Derek had relented, pushing the human down onto the couch and kissing him within an inch of his life. He left Stiles dazed, lips tingling and cherry-red, but overall, feeling more equipped to handle tomorrow.

* * *

              Stiles woke up to the muted, background noise of the shower, figuring that Derek must have just returned from the woods. On the day of the full moon, Derek spent an extra hour or two jogging through the preserve, trying to burn off the crackling energy beneath his skin—or fur. Stiles wasn’t actually sure if Derek conducted his runs as a wolf or a man.

                The teen stumbled out of bed and grabbed a pair of clothes from his room. He had barely been in it the last two weeks, aside from getting dressed and moving all of the toiletries he used from his bathroom to Derek’s. The were had suggested it casually at one point, and it made sense to Stiles who slept in Derek’s bed and usually showered with him. The only thing they had left in Stiles’ room was his books and his clothes. Despite Derek’s monochromatic and seemingly small wardrobe, he didn’t have a lot of closet space.

                Still half-asleep, Stiles trudged back downstairs, nearly missing the last two steps and tripping. Derek’s coordination had not rubbed off on him yet.

                He started breakfast: pancakes, because he knew they were Derek’s favorite even if the wolf wouldn’t admit it. Derek hated to be spoiled, felt guilty the moment someone tried to pamper him, but Stiles was intent upon making the wolf’s full moons a positive experience from now onward.

                He heard Derek scuffing across the kitchen floor, being deliberately loud so that Stiles wouldn’t startle and throw batter everywhere.

                The human’s fingers were sticky as he made another batch of pancakes, anticipating Derek’s supernaturally large morning appetite. He had been intermittently pulling chunks off of one of the more misshapen pancakes and dunking it in syrup. It was a rare occurrence when Stiles would finish cooking without having eaten half of whatever he had made. He had only just switched the stove top off and flipped the rest of the pancakes onto a plate when Derek wrapped around him from behind.

                The teen had enough sense to drop the pan into the sink water before it fell on the floor. Derek kissed lightly at his nape, a _good morning_ , before gnawing on it with blunt, human teeth, Stiles groaning softly and holding onto the sink with white-knuckled fingers.

                “Wait, wait, lemme wash my hands,” he mumbled. Derek pressed a kiss to Stiles’ cheek, gently unhooking one hand from the counter. Small gasps of breath were rushing in and out of the human’s lungs, completely losing their natural rhythm when Derek sucked one of Stiles’ long fingers into his mouth. He cleaned the remnants of syrup from Stiles’ fingertips, his other hand spread low across the teen’s abdomen.

                Stiles happily surrendered, dropping his head back onto Derek’s shoulder and inviting the wolf to nuzzle and lick at his neck.

                “Der, is this the full moon, or do you just really like my pancakes?” It might have been funnier if Stiles wasn’t wheezing like an asthmatic. Jesus, he was so desperate for it, knew that Derek could smell it on him in a second. He was falling apart already with Derek simply mouthing at his jaw.  

                There was a small huff of amusement, hot breath against his throat. Derek gently tilted Stiles’ head to the side so that their eyes met. The human half-expected for Derek’s to be blue.

                “ _Fuck_ ,” the wolf cursed quietly. “You’re so sexy.” He surged in for long, deep kisses that made Stiles’ jaw sore, Derek’s tongue forcing his mouth open wide for a better taste.  

                “Just the moon talking,” Stiles panted, one hand curled behind him in Derek’s hair.

                The wolf crowded even closer behind him, until the beginning of Stiles’ hard-on was pressing into the ledge of the sink.

                “That’s not how this works. The full moon doesn’t distort or make me incoherent. It just intensifies, turns everything up a notch.” Derek’s voice was rough and calm and even in a way that made Stiles shiver, made him shift his hips forward a little.

                The wolf growled and sunk his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck. “You smell so fucking amazing right now. Tasted so sweet.”

                “It was the syrup,” Stiles whispered uselessly, his head lolling back onto Derek’s chest. His dick was thickening in his jeans, just listening to the husky edge of Derek’s voice, feeling the strength of Derek’s body all along his back. It hadn’t taken Stiles long to realize that Derek being able to pick him up and manhandle him was a _thing_.

                “You have no idea, baby. No idea how enticing you are.” Derek’s hands roamed over top of Stiles’ shirt, rubbing lightly over his nipples so that the teen squirmed, pressed back, felt Derek’s hard cock pushing against his ass. “I love how your heart goes into a frenzy when I call you that.”

                The boy’s face was burning, his thighs trembling. “I’ve got you. It’s okay,” Derek cooed, taking the rest of Stiles’ weight, kissing the ball of his shoulder.

                “It’s unfair that no one’s taken the time to tell you how gorgeous you are. And so goddamn clever, funny, loving. My sweet boy.” Stiles’ hips twitched into the counter again, and he moaned under his breath.

                “You don’t have to do that,” Stiles whispered, body bowing as Derek scratched through the thick line of hair that trailed from the teen’s belly button. He wasn’t sure how to absorb such needless flatteries, especially since the only reason Derek said them was because he meant them.

                “The fact that you said that just proves how much I do.”

                The wolf reached down Stiles’ pants first, pulling his cock out, the other hand deftly unbuttoning, unzipping, nudging the waistband of the teen’s briefs under his balls. The first stroke was pure bliss, Derek’s palm scalding and dry and perfect. Stiles held his breath until air became an urgent need, and then these hurt, aching little noises started tearing their way out of his throat. 

                Derek kept his face buried in Stiles’ neck, where the boy’s scent was thick and warm with arousal. He continued whispering praise and encouragement in the teen’s ear, petting over his chest. He only got in a handful of strokes before Stiles was arching his back, pressing even harder against Derek, feeling the hot, clenching tightness inside of him ease as his orgasm plowed through him, ebbed, and faded.

                “My legs don’t work anymore,” Stiles muttered, slouching aggressively against the wolf.

                Derek laughed, a rumble against his nape, and placed a slow kiss behind the human’s ear.

                “C’mon, breakfast.” Stiles was being ushered to his seat, a glass of orange juice placed in front of him a moment later.

                Derek’s hands were a little wet when he gripped his silverware. He was civilized enough to wash Stiles’ come off of them before he attacked his breakfast with an appreciative grunt. He drained his black coffee so quickly that the teen winced from the imagined bitterness.

                Stiles poked at his pancakes, tearing the fluffy goodness apart with his fork. He was trying to approach the situation with subtle grace, but it had never been his strong suit, so he dropped his fork with a _clang_ against his plate and asked, “Why didn’t you let me get you off?”

                Derek was a little blind-sided, choking on his second cup of coffee. “I don’t need to come for you to make me feel good, Stiles.”

                “I get that, but I would _like_ to give you orgasms. I’m an equal opportunist in that way. Orgasms for everyone.” The wolf smiled, his face turned down to his plate.

                “Tomorrow. As many orgasms as you want…but tomorrow.”

                Stiles didn’t want to push, not with how much progress they had made. Derek was finally at the point where he was mostly convinced that he wouldn’t be a threat to Stiles’ life on the full moon. Still, the boy felt a twinge of sadness at Derek’s minor self-deprecation.

                “I can agree to those terms,” Stiles replied, shoving half of a pancake into his mouth at once. Derek’s eyebrows settled on his forehead in an aloof expression, suggesting that he couldn’t believe _this_ was the person he chose to share orgasms with. The teen just cackled.

                The rest of the day was pretty uneventful. Stiles read on the couch with Derek tucked behind him, enjoying how cuddly his wolf was. Now more than ever, Derek felt the need to have him close, to know that Stiles was safe. He never said it, but it wasn’t difficult to put together. In fact, Derek had reassured him about going downstairs, getting out of the loft for a few hours. Always the martyr.

                Derek didn’t seem to understand that it would be just as painful and unsettling for Stiles to be apart from him as vice versa. Stiles would hardly be able to concentrate on anything besides getting Derek through tonight.  

                The human was interrupted from his book by the sensation of pinpoints scraping against his waist. Derek had turned the TV down so that Stiles could read and had settled in between the boy’s shoulder blades, pushing Stiles’ shirt out of the way so that he could stroke absentmindedly against his bare hip. What the teen felt now were Derek’s claws, their lethal, fine tips raking white trails across his skin. Turning his upper half to face Derek, Stiles found the wolf drowsy, eyes closed, unaware.

                Stiles covered Derek’s hand with his own, stopping it. That seemed to disrupt whatever lull Derek was in, the wolf blinking his eyes open. A panicked expression seized Derek’s face once he realized what was happening.

                “They-they just slipped out. Are you okay? I wasn’t paying attention.” Hyperaware of his claws, he pushed Stiles’ shirt farther up his side, looking for scratches or signs of pain.

                “I’m fine,” Stiles urged, rolling to his other side so that he and Derek were face-to-face. “You didn’t hurt me. You wouldn’t.” Derek sighed, tipping their foreheads together. He could feel the wolf tensing against him, withdrawing into himself. Stiles couldn’t allow it.

                He took one of Derek’s hands, still clawed, and pressed it to his cheek. Turned his face to kiss the pads of Derek’s fingers and the points of his claws.

                Stiles heard the sharp inhale of breath. “Don’t.” Derek’s voice was soft and pleading, as if Stiles were holding Derek’s life in his hands.

                He placed Derek’s palm over his heart and shifted closer until their mouths were barely touching. “I’m not afraid of you.” Stiles gave his boyfriend a chaste kiss before darting his tongue out to lick at one of the wolf’s elongated canines.

                Derek growled in exasperation, but there was no heat, no fight behind it. Maybe when he first came here Stiles would have been afraid, but he knew Derek now. Knew that he would gut himself before he ever hurt one of his pack.

                So Stiles indulged himself, flicking his tongue over the front of Derek’s fangs, sucking gently on his bottom lip between kitten licks. Derek’s mouth had dropped open at some point, his growls transforming into soft whines. The teen placed his hand on the wolf’s face to give him a firm kiss, noticing the skin shift under his fingers.

                Then the bone, widening the ridge of Derek’s brow and hardening his cheekbones. Hair was seemingly growing out from between Stiles’ fingers. Maybe it should have been strange, or even slightly off-putting to feel Derek shift under his hands, to open his eyes and see inhuman, fluorescent blue ones staring back at him.

                But it wasn’t.

                All Stiles could think about was how Derek’s werewolf status gifted him with a knot, probably starting to swell and ripen already with how tightly wound Derek was on the full moon. How he couldn’t wait to get his hands on it again, feel Derek inside of him, over him, under him. Anything he could get. The wolf hadn’t gone any farther with him than filthy kisses and groping in the last two weeks, not until today. Stiles knew he was still harboring worry, afraid to act on his impulses, but oh, how the teen _wanted_.

                “ _Stiles_.” The snarl was still garbled by fangs, but Stiles could sense the disapproving tone behind them. It was one he had heard often since he arrived. “You’re turned on right now. I can smell it.”

                Stiles bit his lip. “Am I not allowed to be turned on by my boyfriend?”

                “Not while I’m…like _this_ ,” Derek grit out.  

                The human shifted and wiggled until Derek was on his back, and then Stiles unceremoniously sat on the wolf’s stomach. He leaned forward until Derek’s eyes couldn’t look anywhere else but at him.

                “Maybe I like you like this.”

                “Don’t be ridiculous,” Derek grunted, trying to shake Stiles’ hands off of his face.

                “I’m not…You’re beautiful. Wolf, human, somewhere in between, you’re always beautiful.”

                Stiles’ fingers mapped the new ridges and curves of Derek’s beta form, content to watch the information sink into Derek’s thick skull. Sometimes it was a blessing that Derek could sense honesty.

                Derek stopped struggling against the caresses and nuzzled into Stiles’ palm. “Don’t hide from me,” Stiles whispered. Not after everything Derek had done to make him feel like a normal member of the pack and not a piece of property. Out of everyone, Stiles was the person who could best understand that someone shouldn’t be tormented for something as simple as what he or she is.

                The wolf kissed the meat of his palm, grazing it carefully with the tips of his fangs, testing Stiles’ tolerance and his own daring. “I need to shift, Stiles. The rest of the way.”

                “Okay…okay.” Stiles climbed off of Derek and helped strip him out of his clothes. He folded them haphazardly and dropped them on the corner of the coffee table only to feel a nose butt at the back of his leg.

                The teen laughed and crouched down to sink his hands into the thick midnight scruff at the back of Derek’s neck. He rubbed and scratched around his ears, hearing content puppy noises come from his wolf. Derek would never convince him that he didn’t like being petted, no matter how much he protested.

                Stiles leaned in and pressed his lips to the side of Derek’s muzzle, his whiskers tickling against Stiles’ skin. “Still beautiful,” the human confirmed.

                They settled back onto the couch, this time with Derek folded along the front of Stiles’ body. It was strange for Stiles to be the larger of the two, but he did relish an occasion where he could be the big spoon. Stiles picked up his book again, stroking his fingers through Derek’s fur until his eyes grew sore and heavy. He woke up an indeterminate amount of time later with the wolf yipping adorably at him, bumping his nose against the teen’s chest to try and rouse him.

                “Okay, okay, big guy. Bed time. I got it. ”

                Stiles dropped his clothes one by one into a pile next to his side of the bed. He reckoned that wolf-Derek would be even warmer than human-Derek with all the extra fur, so he abandoned pajamas for the night. In just his underwear, he turned back towards the bed to pull down the covers, noticing Derek curled into a ball on the opposite side of the bed. His head dropped onto his front paws, eyes glowing with avid attention on Stiles.

                “How is it possible that I’m the one blushing right now when you’re all…?” Stiles gesticulated wildly at Derek’s current wolfy state. The teen huffed and pulled the wolf against his chest, hiding the residual blush in Derek’s scruff.

                The wolf gave one of his happy whines—Stiles was working on decoding the wolf-Derek speak—and shifted until he was comfortable.

                It only took a few minutes for Derek’s breathing to slow and deepen, soft _whuffs_ of breath audible in the silent apartment. It didn’t escape the boy’s attention that Derek drifted to sleep more easily as a wolf than he did as a man.  

* * *

                The chilly morning air of the loft was leaching the heat from Stiles’ exposed back, where the covers had slipped down. The teen made a sleepy noise of discontent, barely cognizant, when a warm pair of lips touched the back of his neck, his shoulder blades, the knobs of protruding vertebrae at the top of his spine.

                Stiles hummed when Derek slotted their bodies together, letting all of his glorious body heat seep into Stiles’ back. He placed his frozen feet against his boyfriend’s shins, greedy for the warmth, curving into a semi-fetal position so that Derek could wrap around him better.

                “Morning,” Derek rasped, his voice still thick and rough from sleep. He started kissing the side of Stiles’ neck, bumping against the human’s jaw so that Stiles would tilt his head back and expose his throat. Derek growled quietly, making Stiles smile. It sent a thrill through him, that Derek’s behavior was always a little wolfish, full moon or not.

                “Mmmhh…” Stiles sighed, feeling his cock twitch in his briefs when Derek sucked at his tender ear lobe, caught his lips in a kiss.  

                When they broke apart for breath, Stiles grumbled, “I have morning mouth. I taste disgusting.”   

                “I don’t care.” Derek proceeded to straddle him, stroking up and down his sides, slipping his tongue back into Stiles’ mouth with a pleased noise. It spurred the teen on, already feeling a little adventurous, a little delirious from having Derek naked and planted in his lap. He slid his hands down the length of the wolf’s spine, gingerly cupping the obscene curve of his ass. The were bit down gently into Stiles’ bottom lip, exhaling a guttural moan.  

                “Wait,” Derek panted. _Panted._ Stiles couldn’t help but be a little proud of himself for cracking Derek’s composure. “Slow down.”

                “Sorry,” Stiles giggled, brushing over Derek’s cheekbones, feeling relaxed and loopy. He coaxed Derek’s face back to his, trading kisses so sweet and unhurried that it made his toes curl. He could handle slow.

                Stiles waited for Derek to settle back down into the bed sheets, pulling them modestly up to his hips. “Can I ask you something?”

                “What is ’t, baby?”

                Stiles inhaled slowly, feeling his heart skip. He would really need to get used to that. A warring, larger part of him hoped that he never did.

                “Does the full moon make you…I mean, are you more…?”

                “…Horny?” the wolf supplied with a devious smile. It was annoying that Stiles still blushed like a prepubescent boy, but he nodded.

                “There’s always a buzz on the full moon, a drive to burn off some of that energy. Sex is as good of a way as any,” Derek explained, running a hand through Stiles’ hair.

                The comment made Stiles feel a little small, although he knew it was irrational to compare himself to Derek’s previous lovers. Still, a heaviness occupied his gut. “Did you…I mean, is that how you used to spend your full moons? Before I came?”  

                “Not for a long time,” Derek answered quietly.

                “Am I the first human you’ve been with?”

                There were several beats of silence. Derek searched Stiles’ face, considering his response. “The only one. Companions were never an option.” His expression darkened.  

                “I know that, Derek. Of course I know that,” Stiles reassured. “I just wanted a little bit of your past.” The teen worried that he might have said the wrong thing, poked at some insecurity or bad memory that would make Derek close in on himself.

                “I’d never really been around a human before Allison. We’ve always coexisted, mixed, sure, but it’s different when you live with someone.” Stiles didn’t dare speak a word to interrupt him. Derek _never_ mentioned Allison, the pain from her death still sharp and alive. Somehow, Stiles just knew, viscerally, that this was the first time Derek had talked about her since she died.

                “I knew how she liked her eggs and her favorite arrowhead and how she would twist her hair when she was frustrated. It’s just different,” he sighed, blinking slowly, perhaps cherishing the safety of the temporary darkness. “It makes everything different. And with you…” Stiles felt his heart jolt, knew Derek did, too.

                After a few moments, the teen leaned in and nosed at Derek’s cheek, whispered, “What about me?”

                Derek’s eyelashes looked sinfully soft splayed against his cheeks, one of his arms looping behind Stiles to pull him in gently by the waist. Chests bumping with tight breaths.  

                “You terrify me, make me feel like there’s no difference between us yet keep reminding me how…appealingly…perfectly…human you are. The way you shiver,” and Stiles did, as if on command, “and bruise, and scar.” Fingertips trailed over the fading lines on his back, now only two jagged, pink marks.

                Stiles had made a fuss initially when Derek came home with a scar removal cream because it was undoubtedly expensive. In a world where the majority of the ruling class could absorb fatal wounds and spontaneously heal, scars were only accessories for humans. Even then, the Consumer Industry only produced it so that Companions and trophy Assistants could remain flawless for their Supernaturals.

                Within the last couple weeks, the cream had smoothed over the ragged, thick ridges of tissue, helped the skin knit back together. The lines  might even disappear altogether with enough time.  

                Every morning, Derek smeared the greasy cream along the fissures of Stiles’ skin, Stiles feeling like a chipped vase that was being glued back together. Derek remade him a little bit each day, erasing some of the ugliness and pain, and eventually Stiles stopped fighting it. He couldn’t help but feel that Derek bought it for the both of them. He didn’t want the memories of that night anymore than Stiles did. 

                Derek nestled his face into the hollow at the front of Stiles’ throat, his arms wound with an edge of urgency around his bedmate. The boy was breathless, enamored, powerful. He stroked through the thickness of his wolf’s hair and thought to himself, _I can take care of you. I can do that._

* * *

                Stiles did take care of him, later, cashing in on the promise Derek had made yesterday. After they had eaten breakfast, shared a look, and immediately dropped back into the mess of bedcovers.

                The experience wasn’t exactly sexy or a demonstration in flawless skill, but the teen couldn’t expect miracles the first time he sucked cock.   

                Derek gave him free rein, allowing the boy to spread him out across the bed like a fucking present.

                There was a little bit of laughing between them the first time Stiles choked, over-eager and brazen with lust, having tried to swallow all of Derek down in one attempt. 

                There was a lot of moaning when Derek taught Stiles how to dip his tongue into his juicy slit, how to lavish attention at the sensitive head of his dick, lick under his foreskin, wrap his hand around anything he couldn’t fit in his mouth (mainly, Derek’s knot). Stiles whimpered even more when the wolf praised him, gave him gentle, sugary-sweet encouragements like _that’s it, sweetheart_  and _absolutely perfect._ The teen was amazed how turned-on he could become from pleasuring someone else, had to grind the heel of his hand against his throbbing cock so he wouldn’t cry.

                Derek came salty and bitter at the back of Stiles’ throat, on the top of his tongue, the overflow leaking out of the corner of Stiles’ lips onto his feverish face. The wolf wiped the extra saliva and come from the human’s skin with tender thumbs, pulled him in close and thanked him over and over between luxuriously heavy kisses.


	17. Chapter 17

                It was mind-boggling to think that with all that had happened Stiles had only been living with Derek for five months. 

                His father’s death glares towards Derek were becoming increasingly less frequent, probably because John and Melissa themselves were so smitten. Just as Derek predicted, the two parents had confessed to their relationship one night during a pack dinner. Both Scott and Stiles had made the obligatory gagging noises only to be swatted by Lydia and Kira who were sitting next to them.

                Stiles had continued his woodcarving, now working on his third and fourth pieces. The second one had been a simple basswood box, complete with a fitted, removable lid. A filigree engraving around the lid's edge and no hinge because Stiles liked to keep metal out of his work. 

                The little demon in town had inspected it for five minutes, humming and muttering to himself every now and then, before primly pushing it back towards Derek. Stiles held it in his lap on the car ride home, not feeling too disheartened. He didn’t expect to sell every piece that he made, although Derek had been adorably indignant on his behalf.

                A few days later, Lydia had asked him what he was working on, and he mentioned the box in passing. The banshee had demanded to see it, gushing about how she was in the need of a new jewelry box. She followed him downstairs, took one look at the box, and offered to take it immediately, her green eyes going big and round. Stiles convinced her to give him a couple days, so he could personalize it, embellish it a little more. He inscribed her initials into the bottom of the box and added an intersecting divider inside to give her a few compartments. The teen filled in the top of the lid with carvings of orchids and lotuses—Lydia’s favorites—making them as realistic as possible through many painstaking hours of tweaking and fine-tuning. 

                Lydia’s reaction made all of the effort worthwhile. She had smiled radiantly when he gave it to her, a veritable goddess amidst the drab surroundings of the loft. As thanks, the banshee gave him a kiss on the mouth, completely innocuous, but surprising enough that Stiles burned bright pink. It certainly gave Derek an incentive to remove every foreign trace on Stiles’ body later—including some of Lydia’s lipstick—with great fervor and dedication.

                Right now, he was making a heart-shaped box out of cherry wood. He planned on sanding it and staining it, as a sort of trial run for piece number four: Derek’s birthday present.

                Stiles had two and a half weeks until the day. He had strained his mind to the point of insanity trying to think of what to give Derek. But buying him something was not an option, for two reasons. One: despite his wealth, Derek wasn’t terribly materialistic—his barren apartment a testament. The man didn’t buy anything for himself besides books and groceries. Even if Stiles did want to buy Derek some _thing,_ he would have no idea where to start. Two: Stiles would have to spend someone else’s money to purchase Derek a present, which just seemed impersonal and awful.

                Making Derek a gift seemed like the best solution. At the very least, Stiles’ homemade present would be unique and meaningful, if only because the teen spent weeks pouring his blood and sweat into it.

                Stiles had recently developed a penchant for boxes, so he decided to make one for Derek. They could be simple or ornate, any shape or size he wanted, and they could hold anything. Whether it be something mundane and common, or intimate and secretive. There was endless potential with boxes.

                Stiles remembered that Derek had been fond of the cherry wood when they bought it, so that part wasn’t difficult to decide. As for the actual outline, Stiles found himself returning to the idea of a cylindrical box over and over. Now, making a cylinder out of a rectangle wasn’t impossible, but without power tools, it would be a relatively grueling process. Also, the box wouldn’t really resemble a box so much as a wooden jar, but Stiles had learned to follow his whims and his instincts when it came to creating something. The results were often much more interesting that way.  

                Derek was exceptionally considerate when it came to giving Stiles privacy and space to work, never touching or peeking at any of Stiles’ projects. As a result, it wasn’t that hard to hide Derek’s developing present from him. Stiles probably didn’t need to conceal it at all. Still, he tucked the chunk of wood under a pile of old sheets when he left the apartment and kept the heart-shaped box on the workbench.  

                 He had been downstairs since breakfast, roughly four hours, judging by the clock on his phone. His hands were getting cramped and sweaty, his fingers a little sore from chiseling the rough outline of the cylinder out of the starting block. Stiles decided that he needed a break, turning off the lamp on his workbench, sweeping up the wood shavings on the floor. Maybe he would come back down after dinner.

                The human imagined that Derek was still lying on the couch upstairs, nursing a cup of leftover coffee and a book against his belly. Whenever Stiles would return to the loft after a long stretch of working downstairs, the wolf would gather this small, private smile at the corner of his lips. It never failed to make Stiles feel ridiculously weightless and ecstatic.

                Naturally, Stiles’ thoughts drifted to how delicious Derek had looked this morning, how he had shuddered when he first caught sight of the wolf. It had been an exercise in self-control to leave the loft.

                Stiles didn’t know where Derek had been hiding it, but today, he was wearing this maroon sweater with thumbholes that blended so beautifully with his skin and his dark hair. It made Derek look a little younger, a little softer somehow. Maybe it was the way the sweater had slipped backwards when Derek leaned into the counter at breakfast to make toast, exposing the sweet, kissable bump of vertebra at the base of Derek’s neck. That peak of hair at his nape that Stiles was dying to twine through his fingers.  

                God, he was fucked. Hopefully, literally. Because they hadn’t done that yet. Derek had fingered him until he cried (a memorable night), and Stiles had been perfecting the art of giving blowjobs, but it hadn’t gone any farther than that.

                And that was fine with Stiles. What they were doing now was amazing. And Stiles didn’t mind waiting, but he couldn’t exactly control his thoughts or his fantasies in the meantime. Jerking off in the shower had become a daily ritual as he contemplated having Derek that _deep_ inside of him, how full he’d feel.

                Stiles sighed, content to tuck his daydreams into a mental drawer for later. He had just entered the stairwell when someone called behind him, “Hold the door.”

                The teen’s body went rigid on instinct, but he knew he smelled like Derek. That there was only a dozen steps separating them from the top floor. If he screamed, Derek would reach him in seconds.

                He held the door open for a woman hitching a bag of groceries against her hip like a mother would a child. She flashed a grateful smile, and Stiles immediately dropped his head, waited for her to pass in front of him. It was one thing to abandon formal posturing when Derek was at his side; it was another thing entirely when he was by himself. He had learned that lesson the hard way.

                Stiles heard the distinct sound of the woman clucking her tongue, perhaps in thought or disapproval. It was hard to tell. But she wasn’t moving up the stairs, had paused with one foot perched on the second step.

                “You look familiar. Hmm, what is it?” There were a couple seconds of silence before she exclaimed, “Oh, I remember. That’s your wolf on the top floor?”

                 “Excuse me, ma’am?” Stiles sputtered.

                “Head up, boy. I don’t need anyone bowing to me.” Stiles’ eyes hesitantly locked with the woman’s. Light hazel, maybe a shade or two lighter than Derek’s. While he normally hated being called “boy,” he didn’t mind it coming from her. She didn’t say it with contempt or insolence.

                “And to answer your question,” she smiled mischievously, “I wanted to know if that wolf upstairs was yours.”

                Stiles stammered for a few seconds before biting his lip to silence the painful babbling. The woman had merely arched one eyebrow, waiting.

                “I think so,” Stiles sighed. He liked her; he didn’t really know why. The fact that she wasn’t acting superior was definitely making a good impression though.

                “You want him...badly.” It wasn’t a question. “It’s all around you. Like a million particles vibrating, buzzing on the surface of your skin, never settling.” The woman smirked.

                “Are you a wolf, too?” Stiles hoped that he hadn’t been projecting horny pheromones throughout the entire stairwell.

                “Oh, sweetie, no. But you could say that lust, sex, seduction—well, they’re sort of my specialties.”

                “Succubus?” Stiles guessed, feeling both nervous and curious. He had never met either a succubus or an incubus before.                

                The woman nodded, flipped her caramel-brown waves over her shoulder. “Good boy.” She gave him a wicked grin.

                “And what about him?” Stiles dropped his eyes to the ground only so he wouldn’t have to endure her satisfied expression. The woman knew that she had caught him on her hook.

                The stranger started walking up the stairs and waved her hand in a motion for Stiles to follow her. They reached the top floor, presumably where the succubus’ apartment was as well.

                She stopped and closed her eyes in concentration. “That’s better, now that we’re closer. I can feel him.” 

                “It manifests as an aura or an energy,” she commented casually. “I’ve told you yours. On him, it’s like heat waves radiating off of the surface of his body. He wants to dig into you with his teeth and his claws and never let you go. You’re drawn to each other.”

                Stiles’ cheeks pinked, and he could barely restrain the dopey smile from overtaking his face. “Um…thanks, I mean, for the…um.”

                The stranger rolled her eyes. “No wonder he can’t help himself. You’re just the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

                At that moment, Stiles heard a soft growl over his shoulder. Stiles had heard it enough times to recognize to whom it belonged.

                The woman raised her free hand in surrender as she backed away. “Good luck with that problem of yours, cutie,” she called, giving him a wink before entering her apartment several rooms down.  

                “Are you okay?” Derek’s voice was soft, and he touched Stiles’ elbow in concern. “I could smell you outside, hear your heart, but you weren’t coming in.”

                “Yeah, we were just talking. I would have called you, I promise…She was okay, actually.” Stiles was a little dazed, thinking about how he had just received sex advice from a succubus. Never let it be said that the world he lived in wasn’t interesting.

                “Stiles, she was a sex demon,” Derek hissed. “She was probably trying to lure you home with her.” His boyfriend huffed in irritation. Beneath the distress, Stiles could sense…a hint of jealousy?...which was just so outrageous that Stiles chuckled. He didn’t expect the wolf’s eyes to fixate on his mouth. A shock of lust zipped down the human’s spine, settled in his stomach. He wondered if the succubus down the hall could feel it.  

                “Derek, we should…” Stiles pointed helplessly to the door of the loft, his eyes too preoccupied with the way Derek was caging him in against the wall.

                “What are you doing?” The human whispered, watching the were’s tongue dart over his lips, a flash of fangs visible.

                “Someone might walk by,” Stiles protested, feeling his conviction wane before he even finished his sentence. Derek had started nosing gently along his jaw, inhaling behind his ear.

                “I know,” the wolf growled quietly, pressing against Stiles’ mouth. The kiss was demanding, left the boy’s lips sensitive and his jaw unhinged. Derek was neither an exhibitionist nor a person who liked sharing his significant other with _others_ …so it didn’t take long for the wolf to lose his possessive streak and pull away.

                The kiss had left the pair of them wired and jittery and anticipating. Derek’s pupils had dilated beautifully in the dim lights of the hallway, and Stiles was literally gasping for air.

                “If you really want to make me yours,” the were’s eyes lit up like blue light bulbs at the words, “you should take me inside. Do it more thoroughly.”

                 There was no sweeter sound than the heavy door of the loft sliding shut. Not a second later, Derek had picked Stiles up by the back of the thighs, the human flapping his arms in discombobulation before clinging to Derek like an octopus. God, did he love the manhandling, how easily Derek could take his weight, could take him just like that if he wanted. Maybe pressed against a nice wall somewhere, Stiles wrapped tightly around his waist, their bodies and mouths crushed together.

                It wasn’t until Derek reached the bed and dropped Stiles onto his back that the wolf gentled. He wound one arm under the teen and dragged him into the center of the mattress, enough to make Stiles breathless again. Derek settled over top of him, using his knees to bear all of his own weight.

                He brushed the side of the human’s face with his thumb, pushed the hair off of his forehead. “Are you sure?”

                “I’m so ready, Derek. Trust me.” Stiles tangled himself back around his wolf, kissing at his impeccable throat and collarbones while Derek fished the lube out of the nightstand. He dipped his tongue into the hollow at the base of Derek’s throat, the wolf groaning quietly.

                Derek had a sensitive neck, which was incredibly ironic. So many trashy romance novels in the bookstore depicted wolves wrenching their humans’ heads back—almost to the point of snapping a spine in two—to claim them in some perverse demonstration of passion. Derek never marked him without asking, and he never marked his neck at all. They didn’t want to waste all of their efforts saving Stiles’ father from an interminable labor sentence by giving him a heart attack.

                Stiles felt the soft thump of the bottle somewhere near his left shoulder, and then the wolf’s face was hovering a few inches over his.

                “Why are you looking at me like that?” Derek murmured before dropping down to give him a soft kiss.

                “I wish I could leave a mark on you. You would look really good with a few hickeys.” Stiles grinned, petting through the back of Derek’s hair.

                “You can. I can suppress my healing for a little while.”

                The teen’s mouth dropped open. He had been rambling in his pre-sex haze like he always did when he was strung tight and turned-on, his boyfriend only minutes away from doing unbearably sexy things with him. He didn’t actually expect anything.

                “But—Won’t that make you uncomfortable? I don’t want to hurt you.” Stiles’ hand slipped around to Derek’s cheek, rubbing at his soft skin, his bristly beard.

                Derek’s answering laugh was playful. “I think I can handle your mouth, Stilinski.”

                “We’ll see about that.” Stiles used the little leverage he had to put Derek onto his back, the wolf laughing harder because they both knew that Derek wouldn’t move an inch if he didn’t want to. Sometimes, his boyfriend was a jackass.

                The human straddled Derek’s hips, appreciatively noticing the growing bulge under his ass but not worrying about it right then. He had a mission.

                Despite being all muscled and bearded and monosyllabic, Derek had fairly pale skin which gave him a hint of vulnerability. It would bruise so prettily.

                Stiles was a brat, so he teased at the side of Derek’s neck, nuzzling and licking lightly and pressing feathery kisses to the skin. When he heard the wolf grumble underneath him, Stiles dropped down single-mindedly onto his lover’s pulse and sucked.

                A surprised noise forced its way out of the wolf’s mouth, and he coiled his arms around Stiles’ back. The teen kissed Derek’s neck wet and heavy and harsh, tongue flicking out against the skin. At the first hint of teeth, Derek gasped. It was stunning.

                Derek wasn’t incredibly vocal during sex. Or during life in general. So when he moaned or panted, or Jesus Christ, _talked_ with Stiles coaxing him towards an orgasm…well, it was something to be cherished.  

                Stiles pulled away, his mouth wet and abused, to survey his handiwork. Gorgeous, still too new to properly bruise and form that deep violet-magenta hue. Off-center from the middle of Derek’s throat, almost nestled under his jaw, was a lovely sunburst of a love bite. Brilliant pink and shining with the residue of Stiles’ saliva.

                “Wow,” Stiles breathed in awe, his voice airy. Moments like these never ceased to remind the teen that the universe was paying him back for a shitty life by letting him have Derek this way. 

                “Satisfied?” Derek murmured, his eyes heavy-lidded and dreamy, a soft smile gracing his lips. “If not, I can take a few more.”

                Stiles whimpered, his mouth moving blindly back to Derek’s, eyes clenched tight because it was too much, painfully good. The wolf’s breath was hot on Stiles’ temple when they broke apart.   

                “God, you smell so good.” Derek urged Stiles farther into his lap, grasping and squeezing two handfuls of his ass so that the boy squeaked. Stiles ground downwards into the heat beneath him, just once, just enough to get a feel.

                “Derek, c’mon,” Stiles pleaded, wrestling out of his shirt, Derek’s steady hands on his torso the only thing keeping him from falling off of the bed. He tugged meaningfully at his boyfriend’s sleeves until Derek straightened his arms above him. While Stiles was a little sad to see the sweater go, it was a necessary evil. Besides, everything underneath that sweater was his consolation prize.     

                Stiles’ throat worked as he exposed ridge after ridge of firm muscle, as he ruffled his hands through Derek’s hair just to hear him rumble. The teen was trying to figure out how to get both of their pants off without actually leaving the warmth of Derek’s lap. He suspected that Derek would love to just cut through their clothes with an efficient swipe of his claws, but Stiles would feel too guilty wasting them.  

                The human groaned in frustration, Derek’s mouth hot on his chest—god, it felt _scorching_ —and his hips shifting to create a gentle friction that was no way near enough. Stiles was just about to beg for mercy when Derek pushed one hand down the back of his pants, a finger immediately slipping down to his hole, barely brushing over it.  

                Stiles dropped his head onto Derek’s shoulder, making a pathetic noise that the wolf seemed to enjoy.

                “Wait, don’t stop,” Stiles entreated when Derek’s hand withdrew too suddenly, the arousal making him feel warm and itchy and aching deep inside.

                “Can’t fuck you with your pants on, baby. Let me strip you down.” Derek’s voice was low and quiet and eager in Stiles’ ear, too enticing to resist. He relented, nodding, and felt himself being tipped onto his back.

                “Like this—I want,” Stiles swallowed, his eyes fluttering closed for a few seconds with the weight of his next words, “I want you to fuck me like this.”

                Derek growled, lowered himself onto Stiles’ body until their bare chests were pressed together, Stiles’ rhythmically sinking and rising with his excited breaths.

                “Say it again,” Derek begged, gravelly and uneven, his hands capable as they worked open the zipper of Stiles’ jeans. The wolf’s attention had fallen unwaveringly on Stiles’ lips, watching for the shape of the words, the way they looked leaving the human’s mouth.

                “Fuck me like this...so I can see you?” Stiles voice wouldn’t rise above a whisper, not with how exposed he felt. Because this was new and important and a little scary, and he still couldn’t quite shake the nagging fear that he wouldn’t be able to make this good for Derek.

                Derek dropped down to ravage his mouth, sucking the rest of the air from Stiles’ lungs. With an almost violent determination, he tore Stiles’ jeans and underwear off in one movement, the button grating noisily against the concrete floor.

                The rush of cooler air to his warm cock made Stiles press his knees together, try to cover himself back up, but Derek wouldn’t allow it.

                “If you want it like this, I need you to open wide for me, sweetheart.” Derek’s voice scraped against the silence of the loft, one hand rubbing soothingly at Stiles’ thigh. The boy obeyed, spreading his legs so far apart he felt his hips creak.

                The were cooed his approval. “That’s it. That’s my boy.” From anyone else, Stiles might have felt patronized. But Derek didn’t use his words carelessly. And to be honest, every hushed pet name that came out of the wolf’s mouth made Stiles’ entire body melt from the inside.

                Derek kicked his pants off in record time and leaned over Stiles to snatch the forgotten bottle of lube near his head. Stiles’ palms were stroking absentmindedly at the top of Derek’s thighs as he watched Derek drizzle the viscous liquid over two of his fingers.

                With his dry hand, he tucked a pillow last minute under Stiles’ hips and lower back. The first touch of a finger against the Stiles’ rim made him jolt, and the human squeezed a handful of sheets.

                “It’s cold,” he laughed weakly, his heart starting to race. Being hard for minutes on end without any substantial contact was making him ridiculously sensitive, ready to go off like a fucking firework at the first touch.

                “It’ll warm up in no time,” Derek promised, steadily pushing the first finger inside. Stiles was losing his capacity to make any sound beyond subvocal grunts, Derek’s finger gentle and unyielding, twisting and crooking to tug at his rim on the out-stroke. Luckily, the wolf could read touch and scent and sound better than anyone Stiles had ever met, so he wouldn’t need that many words.

                The teen felt his thighs tremble when Derek rested two fingertips against his hole, smearing more lube around. A warning of what he was going to do in case Stiles wasn’t ready. A little bit of pressure, and the muscle gave smoothly, sucking Derek’s fingers in to the last knuckle.

                Stiles had taken three fingers before, so he was used to the stretch, the barest hint of burning. Mostly, it just made his dick twitch and precome bubble out of the tip of his cock. There were quiet panting breaths from Stiles, and the slick squelch of Derek’s fingers when they would sink as far into the human as they could possibly go.

                When Derek first rubbed against Stiles’ prostate, the boy jerked and groaned, Derek soothing him with kisses to both clavicles and inaudible whispers pressed into his skin.

                “Jesus, Stiles,” Derek uttered softly, his voice wavering.

                The human pulled him down by his nape until their mouths met. In the middle of a heavy, slow kiss, the wolf nudged a third finger inside of him, promising “almost, almost.” The jabs into his prostate were becoming more regular as the pain sharpened, but Stiles was still hard as a brick, feeling so good and wanted.

                “Another, Derek,” he breathed against the wolf’s lips, winding an arm around his neck to keep him close for more humid, fumbling kisses.

                “You're sure?” Derek seemed just as overwhelmed as Stiles, his eyes wide and uncertain.

                “I’ve seen your knot. I’m gonna need it,” the teen quipped, smiling. Stiles had expected some enthusiasm in response, maybe another untamed growl. He didn't expect Derek to withdraw his fingers, Stiles wincing despite his boyfriend's carefulness. 

                “We don’t have to do that,” Derek insisted quietly, a little solemnly, his eyes searching Stiles’ face.

                “I can take it.”

                The wolf’s eyebrows furrowed, and his mouth formed a grim line. “Stiles, I’m not going to knot you just because you think you can handle it. That’s not good enough.”

                The teen started shaking his head. “No, no, Der, that’s not how I meant it.” Stiles sat up the best he could with Derek still kneeling between his legs.

                “I know that knotting is important…” Stiles began slowly, trying to collect his thoughts. “And if that’s not something—then I completely understand. I-I respect your decision, and I wasn’t trying to insinuate that you would want to—”

                Derek tapped his forehead against Stiles’, cutting short the boy’s rambling. “I’ve never knotted anyone, Stiles. If I do this, it has to be because we both want it.”  

                “I do, I do.” Stiles nodded vigorously and flopped himself back down to the mattress, spreading his thighs as welcomingly as he could. If Derek’s flashing eyes were any indication, he’d say he was successful.

                “You always do that,” Derek grunted, his fingers easing back into the boy, everything slick and effortless. His hand were shockingly cool from the air, and Stiles shuddered.

                “Do what?” Stiles’ voice was nothing but a wheeze, the wolf liberally pumping his fingers in and out of Stiles' body. His arms clamped around Derek’s shoulders, and he curled his toes so hard that they cracked.

                “Act so eager…so accommodating.”

                Stiles aligned his eyes with Derek’s, checking to see if his boyfriend was actually serious. Jesus, he really was, the teen sighed internally. For as perceptive as the wolf could be, he was pretty dense when it came to Stiles’ feelings towards him, how intensely the human always wanted him.  

                “Well, yeah, I want this, you ass. I want you.” Stiles swallowed patiently, closed his eyes to steady his breath, and then pinned Derek with his stare. “Now, from the bottom of my heart and my aching dick, could you pretty please fill me up with your knot until I can’t think of anything else?” The human finished with a sickly-sweet smile, superficial with innocence.

                Derek huffed and rolled his luminescent eyes, but he devoured Stiles’ mouth like he had never been so happy and slid a fourth finger past his rim.  

                “I’m ready. Now, now,” Stiles breathed, his heart rate increasing franticly, like someone had turned up a dial.

                “Condom? I can’t carry any diseases, but still.”

                “No,” Stiles murmured, his face pulling into a smile, “I wanna feel your come dripping out of me later.” It dawned on Stiles just how crazy he was for this ridiculous wolf, how he wanted to give Derek everything and anything he deserved.

                The beta swore and leaned back onto his knees to slick up his cock, his chest heaving slightly. Derek braced himself on one arm and touched the head of his dick to Stiles’ hole, dragging it over the sensitive skin until Stiles calmed down a little.  

                “Relax as much as you can.” Derek waited until the teen nodded in comprehension, then started to ease his cock inside, inch by inch.

                It was a lot, more than Stiles had ever felt, and the initial breach was painful, stinging. Mostly, he just felt overwhelmed and stretched taut and _so fucking full._ Derek slid in smoothly, not stopping until he was flush with the back of Stiles’ thighs.

                The human crossed his ankles tightly against Derek’s lower back, his hands digging viciously into the wolf’s biceps.

                “I won’t move until you’re ready,” Derek assured, kissing Stiles’ eyebrow and combing through his hair. The wolf’s breaths were nearly as harsh as Stiles’, as rapid, and his lips had quivered against the boy’s skin.

                “Do I feel good, Derek?” Stiles twitched his hips slightly, enough to feel Derek’s cock pull at his fragile rim. Sharp, sweet, itching pleasure-pain swam through Stiles, and he chased it, inching his hips a little more.

                “ _So_ fucking good, Stiles.” Derek groaned, his face creased in a terrible kind of bliss. “Indescribably good.”

                “Jesus Chr—Okay. Move, please.”           

                Stiles’ mouth cracked open in a silent “O” when Derek pulled out halfway and then slipped his cock back inside, nice and slow. Over. And over. Drilling into Stiles with steady thrusts that poked and prodded all of the tender, sweet spots inside of him.

                Derek bumped his prostate again, the boy’s voice cracking halfway through his moan. It was better than it had been with his fingers, Derek’s solid girth keeping his hole tight and open, his cock sinking in deeper than his fingers ever could.

                 “Again, please. Tha’s…perfect,” Stiles panted, eyes closed as waves of exquisite pleasure rushed over him. He kept his hands on Derek, wound in his hair, gripping his arm, because the second Stiles went for his dick he knew he was going to come.

                Derek complied, his next thrust connecting with that same electrifying spot, and the teen’s back arched, his body clamping down greedily around the wolf’s cock.  

                “Oh god.” Derek’s mouth slipped down to the space behind his ear, kissing and sucking until Stiles’ hair rose with goose bumps.

                 The human was lost in sensation, sinking deeper and deeper into their combined pleasure. Every demanding rock of Stiles’ hips was met with a deep, piercing thrust from Derek, their moans and exhales and groans spilling cyclically into one another’s mouths.

                Stiles kept holding onto Derek for dear life, tracing the grooves of muscle and sinew in the wolf’s powerful back, scrabbling desperately at his shoulder blades when Derek drove into him _just right._

He was so intoxicated that he initially didn’t notice why Derek’s thrusts were becoming sharper, more devastating. Stiles heard the grind of Derek’s teeth in his ear before the wolf gritted out, “Stiles, if you’ve changed your mind, I need to know right now.”

                Derek was shaking with the effort to not move, looking visibly pained, his cock suspended halfway out of Stiles’ body, cold and wet. Keeping his inflating knot from forcing the boy open any farther.

                Stiles shook his head, biting hard into his lip. “Knot me,” he whispered.

                A broken exhale, and then Derek was slipping back into the teen’s soft heat, working his knot inside through a series of small, tight thrusts.

                The reaction from both of them was immediate. Derek groaned like Stiles had just wounded him beyond repair, and Stiles finally wrapped his hand around his dick, pumping it once before coming all over himself. His orgasm was vicious and pulsing, his hole squeezing around the swelling knot that was stretching him so tightly he wanted to scream.

                He felt sore and too warm, but he didn’t dwell on that for long. Derek was sweeping his fingers gently over Stiles’ face, his unnaturally blue eyes gazing so adoringly that it made the human's insides squirm.

                The wolf was murmuring soft words through Stiles’ lingering afterglow. “You took my knot so well, baby. Just like I knew you would…God, I can feel you clutching all around me, trying to suck me in deeper.”

                Stiles shivered and pulled Derek into a sloppy kiss while the wolf continued to hump against his ass in small circles, grinding his knot into Stiles’ prostate. He hitched his legs tighter around Derek, ambivalent about the intense pressure when he was still so sensitive.

                “Derek, come on. Come inside me.”  

                As if on command, his boyfriend’s hips stuttered and bucked, his back going tense and rigid. He dropped his head to Stiles’ chest and huffed quietly as he came, all of his energy seeping out of him. He turned his face enough to delicately lick around Stiles’ nipple, where some come had landed earlier.

                The boy hissed and palmed the crown of Derek’s head, tugging at the raven hair there. He lowered his tingling legs back down to the bedspread and planted his feet, trying to restore some of the blood flow. The minor change in the angle of their bodies was enough for Derek’s knot to pull at Stiles’ straining hole.

                “ _Oh,_ ” he yelped. Seconds later, kisses were being planted all over his face, lashes of tongue around his neck and collarbones where Derek was cleaning off random droplets of come.

                “Stiles, are you okay? I’m sorry, baby.” In the strong light of the afternoon, those eyes looked rich and earthy, slightly manic with their concern.

                “S’okay. I just didn’t think how moving—”

                Derek shook his head with a little frustration. “No, I meant in general. With what just happened. Are you okay?”

                Stiles’ face softened, feeling warmth flood his belly. “Was amazing. You were so beautiful.”

                Derek’s cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink, blood rushing to the tips of his ears. “You’re not hurt?”

                “No. I feel all floaty and relaxed and exhausted.” He knew his smile was ridiculous and that he was a little sex-high.

                “What about you, huh? I mean, was it—I know you knew it was my first time, but I was probab—”

                The wolf’s lips silenced him, a warm tongue slipping into his mouth. He moaned softly at how nice Derek’s mouth felt, all swollen and soft and wet.

                “You were unbelievable, Stiles. So good to me. And even if it hadn’t been perfect, I would still look forward to doing this with you a thousand more times until we got it right.”

                Stiles nodded, his heart thumping so hard he could feel it in the back of his throat. For a few seconds, he was afraid he might cry.

                Instead, he just rasped, “Derek…you just. You make me really happy.” He laughed, feeling embarrassed but euphoric at the same time, emotions going a little berserk. Stiles had never felt more stripped down and bare than he did now. Derek probably saw right through him, down to his very core.  

                The wolf kissed him until he was all-encompassed by his heat and scent, those shockingly soft hands roaming with reverence. Stiles was still pulsing around Derek’s knot, unused to being spread open so wide for so long.

                When Derek’s knot finally slipped out, Stiles could _feel_ the streams of come run down his thighs. He had raised himself to his knees, so that he could clean himself up before he destroyed the sheets any further.

                His wolf had held him in place, hands steadying his hips, watching the pearly trails drip down his soft inner thighs. Stiles breathed hard, his face flaming, but not with shame or humiliation. He could never summon the feelings when Derek looked at him with such amazement, such adoration.

                Derek carried him to the bathroom and didn’t set him down until they were crowded in the shower together. The were blocked him from the shower head, bearing the first burst of cold water until the temperature evened and the water became steamy and warm.

                It felt divine, being cleaned and kissed and caressed. When Derek slipped two fingers back into him, Stiles hardly even felt it, his body so pliable and welcoming. Meanwhile, Derek looked distraught as he cleared away the last remaining traces of his come, and the boy couldn’t help but bury his amused grin in his boyfriend’s shoulder.

                Afterwards, Derek wrapped him in a fluffy towel and dried him, nosing at the clean, undiluted scent behind his ears.

                “You’re going to spoil me,” Stiles murmured, feeling heavy and sated and lethargic from the sex and the steam. He reached behind himself with one arm and caught Derek’s face, scratching his nails through the wolf’s beard.     

                “Does that bother you?” Derek’s voice was soft while he planted light kisses across his nape.

                “I don’t really know what to do with it, to be honest,” he sighed, letting his eyes slip closed while Derek wiped off his stomach.

                “Why don’t you just enjoy it then? Let me take care of you.” Hands smoothed over his shoulders and guided him out of the bathroom, his skin horripilating in the fresh air.

                “You take the best care of me,” Stiles protested. He crawled under the blankets, relishing the coolness of the sheets. Derek settled behind him, warm and soft and sweet-smelling. Just a quick nap, Stiles told himself, then he would definitely leave this bed.

                Stiles stayed awake for a little while after Derek had fallen asleep. Something was preventing him from slipping the rest of the way into unconsciousness. He was distantly terrified about how good he felt right now, his blood singing, his mind numb, his body lax. He was riding such a high that he felt like at any moment, he would come crashing back to cold, unforgiving reality. And he suspected the fall would be painful.


	18. Chapter 18

                “A date?” In hindsight, Stiles’ reaction might not have been the most flattering. He was still laughing obnoxiously. 

                “Do I really have to repeat myself for the fifth time?” Derek responded, not even a hint of amusement in his dry voice.  

                “But, Derek, I’ve already put out.” The human giggled even louder, feeling pretty proud of himself. He was hysterical, his sense of humor unparalleled. “Wait—Derek, no, don’t leave. I’m just kidding.” There were tears in Stiles’ eyes as he tried to swallow down the rest of his laughter. He had curled himself around one of Derek’s arms, trying to anchor the wolf to the couch. For good measure, he wrapped both of his legs around one of his boyfriend’s, like a petulant child clinging to a parent.  

                The wolf just rolled his eyes. That’s how Stiles knew he wasn’t actually angry.

                “Where would we go on this date?” Stiles waggled his eyebrows, a delighted smile on his face. He was just having too much fun. Not only was the prospect of Derekwanting to go on a date—in public, surrounded by people—utterly un-Derek-like, but the idea itself of them _dating_ was difficult to take seriously. Dating was just so conventional, and their relationship was anything but.  

                “Anywhere you want,” Derek sighed.

                “That’s not helpful. I have no idea what people do on dates. This is your grand plan, gimme options.” The wolf pursed his lips and stared at the ceiling for strength. When Stiles put his mind to it, he could be sensationally annoying, all for the simple pleasure of watching Derek wriggle.

                “I assume you’d want food at some point—”

                “Of course,” Stiles interrupted. A meek expression filled his face a second later as Derek’s eyebrows rose wordlessly.

                The were inhaled slowly before beginning, “Well, we could—”

                “The movies! I hear the screens are _enormous_. And-and popcorn and candy. Scott told me that they give you like twenty different kinds of candy to choose from.” Stiles flapped his arms like some sort of deranged bird, sucking in another big breath. “Ooh! And we can ironically make out in the back of the theater…like I’ve seen people do in movies.” The teen was grinning broadly, internally acknowledging that, yes, he might have gotten a little overexcited. They were both aware that Stiles’ compulsion to babble was a work in progress, possibly an interminable one.  

                Derek was pinching the bridge of his nose. “I thought you needed options.”

                “Do you have any better suggestions?”

                “Stiles, I don’t actually care what we do. I just want you to enjoy yourself.”

                The human shook his head stubbornly, pawing at Derek’s shoulder. “I want you to have a good time, too, though.”

                “I’ll have a good time because you’re there,” Derek said in exasperation. “It doesn’t matter where we go.” The teen’s mouth dropped open with feeling, leaving him momentarily speechless. His heart felt a little too big behind his ribs.

                “Derek, that’s incredibly sweet.”

                The wolf just grumbled under his breath, refusing to meet the boy’s eyes.

                “We can eat after?”

                The question was so typical for Stiles that it chased away the broody, dark clouds hanging over Derek’s head, made the wolf finally crack a smile. “Of course. There’s a  good diner on the other side of town.”

                “Yes,” Stiles enthused, “yes, please.” His body was vibrating with anticipation. He never imagined himself getting to experience something so _normal._ It still kind of felt like a joke, like Derek would laugh at him at any moment and confess that he had only been teasing.   

                The subsequent thought that tumbled into Stiles’ head shut down his excitement, settled heavy and uncomfortable in his gut. A sudden, accompanying nausea wiped the smile off of his face.

                “How…How much does it cost?”

                Derek’s brow creased in confusion. “What?”

                “The movies. I just realized that I have no idea. I know you have to buy something to see the movie.” Stiles’ mouth went dry as he tried to swallow, and he started to pick at his nails. “It might be expensive.”

                Sometimes, Derek made it so easy for Stiles to forget himself, but, invariably, something always popped up to remind him.   

                “Stiles, movie tickets are five dollars. It’s fine.” The wolf stroked through the back of Stiles’ hair, sensing his growing distress. He could probably smell the dampened, souring happiness coming off of the boy.        

                 “It’s not fine, Derek. I don’t know. I don’t even know how much it costs. Because I can’t…” Stiles’ voice dropped off, and he buried his face in Derek’s shoulder, hot embarrassment making it unbearable for the teen to look at him.

                “Baby, what’s going on?” Derek asked softly.

                “Why do you wanna take me on a date, Derek?” Stiles pulled away abruptly and pinned his wolf with wide and fearful eyes.

                “I thought you would like it. It would also be nice to take you somewhere else besides the grocery store.”

                Stiles laughed a little and hiccupped. “No one aside from the handful of people we know would even consider what we have a relationship.”

                “I don’t care what any of those other people think. They don’t matter.” Derek’s voice lowered with a firm graveness, not even a tinge of compromise in his tone. Stiles’ chest tightened with pride, to know how fiercely his wolf loved the people close to him. The undeniable, unwavering goodness that he saw so often in Derek.   

                The teen bunched a handful of the were’s shirt into his palm, gripped it tightly in desperation. “Most Supernaturals don’t even consider me a person, Der _._ I’m embarrassed _for_ you. I can’t pay for anything, I’m not legally allowed to buy anything…Jesus, I can’t even obtain a driver’s license. Just—just don’t you ever get tired of taking care of me all the time?”

                 Derek’s face hardened. “It’s not a chore to me, Stiles. We look after the people we care about. That’s the only thing that makes sense to me.”

                “How do I take care of you?” Stiles challenged, his voice quiet and pleading.

                “You take me as I am.” Derek’s retort came without hesitation. “You don’t know what that means.”

                The teen couldn’t talk for a minute, Derek’s hands encasing his own, rubbing over them. Stiles had dealt with the prejudice and the degradation every day his entire life. It shouldn’t even faze him anymore.

                The change had come with Derek. The human wanted to be more for him—not different and not even better, just more. And maybe it wasn’t completely for Derek either; maybe Stiles wanted it for himself, too. And realizing that he couldn’t because society wouldn’t let him was an acute agony.  

                When Stiles started speaking again, he kept his admissions quiet. He didn’t really want to hear what he was saying, and the words were hard enough to get out anyways. “Sometimes, I feel like we’re playing pretend. Playing house like kids do…Most people who see us together think I’m your whore, and it’s-it’s not that I care that they think it. It’s that sometimes _I_ feel it.”

                Derek’s chest heaved sharply like he was ready to interrupt, but Stiles squeezed his hand, and the wolf remained silent. “It’s nothing that you’ve done, Derek. God, no.” The boy squeezed their hands together tighter. “But I can’t provide for you. I can’t give anything back to you, and it’s unfair.” Tears were leaking out from the corners of Stiles’ eyes, dripping off the edge of his jaw.

                The muscles near the corner of Derek’s jaw were ticking, rippling under the skin. His Adam’s apple was bobbing along the column of his throat with tight, controlled swallows. “I’m not playing with you, Stiles. This has never been a game to me. And fairness—” The wolf forced out a mirthless laugh “—no one knows better than yourself that fairness is irrelevant to life. Now, this is probably going to be the longest speech I’ve ever given, and I don’t want to shock you with my sudden verboseness, so I’ll only do this once.”

                Stiles laughed again, the sound wet and thick and ugly from his crying. The beta had cupped Stiles’ face in his hands, just cradling it, not forcing Stiles to lift his head or open his eyes. “I’m not under any illusions about what we are. I know we can’t do everything that Supernatural couples can do. But it’s not a sacrifice to me. I’m not losing anything; I’m gaining.” Derek exhaled slowly between them, brushing his hands lightly along the bones of Stiles’ face. “Because I don’t want anyone else. No other Supernatural and no other human can give me even a fraction of what you give me. Do you understand?”

                Stiles nodded, and his bottom lip wobbled. He hurriedly sucked it into his mouth to try and staunch the next flow of tears.

                Derek kissed him once, slow and tender. He might have cried on the wolf a little bit. Some of Stiles’ tears may have gotten into Derek’s mouth, but his boyfriend took no notice.

                “We don’t have to go. It was just an idea,” Derek soothed, wiping the wetness off of Stiles’ cheeks.

                “Of course I want to go,” Stiles sobbed, pressing a hand to his forehead. “I’m sorry. You’re just being so amazing, and I don’t want to cry anymore. It’s stupid. I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

                Derek hushed him and shook his head at the apology, pulling the boy against his side. “Do you want to go Friday?”  

                Stiles cleaned his face with his sleeves and cleared his throat. “That is acceptable. But we’re taking my ten dollars out of the emergency jar. I don’t give a damn if it only buys half our food at that diner.” The intermittent sniffles ruined the hard edge the human was trying to instill in his voice, but he felt like he got his message across.

                “Deal.”

* * *

                 Stiles was tearing through his closet a few days later, fresh from the shower. He only had approximately fifteen articles of clothing in total—including socks. How could it be this difficult to pick something to wear?

                “Still undecided?”

                A second later, Stiles was flailing and crying out as he turned around to see Derek lying casually across his bed.

                “Jesus, how long have you been here?” Stiles’ heart was pounding, compensating for the burst of epinephrine coursing through him.

                “It’s hard to tell. I got lost in the view.” Derek smirked, gazing blatantly at Stiles’ nakedness. The teen had lost his towel at some point, trying to select an outfit.  

                Stiles bent down to pick up the towel—prompting an appreciative whistle from the wolf (a wolf whistle?)—before whipping it at his boyfriend’s stupid face and his perfectly coiffed hair. Derek, of course, snatched the goddamn thing out of the air with ease, pressing it to his nose with a devilish grin.

                Stiles grunted and huffed, turning back to his closet to pull on a pair of underwear.

                “You smelled frustrated. I came up to see what was wrong.”

                “What exactly does frustration smell like?” The teen snorted, shuffling through the few shirts he had on hangers.

                “It’s a little smoky,” Derek mumbled, suddenly mouthing at the juncture between Stiles’ neck and shoulder, making the boy jerk at his silent approach once again.  

                Stiles sighed, relaxing into Derek’s soft, caressing hands. “I’m just being spastic, as usual.”

                “Would it help calm you down if I told you that I think you’re unbearably attractive when you’re fidgety?”

                “Not really.” Stiles laughed, light and breathy. “Probably the opposite, actually.”

                Derek’s version of “help” involved stripping Stiles back out of his underwear and Derek himself losing a significant portion of his own clothing. It was highly counterproductive. Still, within an hour, Stiles was dressed, and they were ready to leave.

                Being surrounded by Supernaturals and unanimated Consumers was enough to make Stiles anxious and squirmy. Derek most certainly could detect his nerves and remained patient, allowing Stiles to examine each of the advertised movie posters for an exorbitant amount of time before deciding. Shame fizzled through the teen like heartburn when the worker passed their tickets over the counter, and he had pulled the sleeve of his flannel down tightly over his left wrist.           

                Seconds later, Derek tangled their fingers together, gave him a quick pulse of pressure to reassure him that he didn’t have to be okay. That he could be upset and uncomfortable because the girl who had cashed them out at the counter looked like she was twelve years old and because some things in this fucked-up world just couldn’t be fixed or rationalized. The wolf didn’t let go, even as he paid for popcorn and soda and a box of gummy worms, all for Stiles, of course. Derek’s hand steadied him, and it made Stiles ache with affection to think that Derek maintained his hold even when it made it unnecessarily difficult to carry all of the snacks into the theater.

                Stiles picked a movie that had been released several weeks ago, so there wasn’t a terribly huge crowd despite it being a weekend. However, the turnout was still large enough to make Stiles antsy and Derek growl under his breath when people passed in the aisles.

                The were had guided him towards the back row, either because he had taken Stiles up on his offer for inappropriate public displays of affection or because no one was seated within the last several rows.

                Stiles quickly became distracted by the lights dimming on the opposite walls of the auditorium, the booming sound coming from the wall-sized screen that had abruptly turned on. Stiles had jolted, his heart racing in surprise and confusion.

                Short snippets of upcoming films started flashing across the screen, “previews” Derek had whispered in his ear. It took a few minutes for the human to adjust to the volume—he wondered how Derek could handle it. Once his nervous system habituated to the onslaught of new sensations, he started in on the snacks, constantly pushing puffs of popcorn and strands of gummy worms at Derek, insisting they share.

                The wolf appeased him, accepting all of the junk food Stiles shoved towards him. The human had already eaten a good portion of the popcorn before the movie even started, much to Derek’s satisfaction. His boyfriend knew him too well. The sneaky bastard had requested extra butter at the concession stand.

                Stiles enjoyed the movie, but the theater itself—the experience—was what really captivated him. Pitch-black except for the vibrant colors of the digital film in front of him, the volume blocking out all other external sounds. It was a strange phenomenon to feel both removed from the outside world and yet deeply entrenched in it. Maybe it was the darkness, heightening all of his senses, making him more alert and sensitive. He felt like here he could set aside his fears and problems for a few hours—not forget or repress them, no. Just hang them on a hook by the door and pick them up on his way out.

                When they left the theater, Stiles’ legs were tingly and stiff, his bladder uncomfortably full from guzzling down the majority of a large soft drink.

                They walked back to the car hand-in-hand, fingers loosely, lazily intertwined. Stiles loved that Derek’s affections were genuine and natural. Never forced to make a statement or provoke other Supernaturals. The wolf simply enjoyed the warmth and pressure of Stiles’ hand in his.

                Fifteen minutes later, they entered the diner, and Stiles understood why it had made an impression on Derek. The ambience and the employees. The former was pleasant, people clanking coffee cups against table tops, chatting, laughing. There was no heavy, suffocating layer of bone-tiredness and stale fear. That probably had something to do with the latter.

                None of the waitresses, waiters, or cashiers were humans, not an identification tattoo in sight. In fact, the employees were socializing with customers as they refilled drinks, distributed platters of food, received and dispatched checks. It was a little shocking, to be honest.

                Of course it was up to the owners of the diner whether or not humans worked there, but most businesses took advantage of the opportunity for free, unlimited labor.

                Derek walked to a booth in the back corner, the windows that faced the street against his left shoulder. Stiles changed his earlier opinion about Derek’s seating preferences. Maybe he chose a place where the door was always close or in sight, where his back was against a wall and he would be able to see anyone approaching or passing by.

                He noticed Stiles’ hectic, wandering eyes and addressed the boy’s unspoken questions.

                “The owners think it promotes a better atmosphere, not having any human workers. Humans don’t make small talk or try to charm the customers, and frankly, most Supernaturals wouldn’t allow a human to be so cordial with them anyways. As you can see, even _we_ like a vacation from reality every once in a while, an escape from the constant tension and unrelenting misery of the enslaved,” Derek finished, not trying very hard to conceal the bitterness in his voice.

                “But you like it here?”

                “It’s a nice feeling, to know that my server is working here by choice and will be compensated, that he or she isn’t worried about being eviscerated for bringing me decaf instead of regular.”    

                The waiter who came over to them a minute later almost looked human, nothing extraordinary about his appearance except for a pair of lavender irises. Stiles wasn’t sure what the protocol in a situation like this was. After all, the man was being paid to serve customers. Did that include humans? Stiles would bet he was the only one that had come in here today, if not ever.

                Derek ordered and gave Stiles a small nod as a cue.

                “The same, please.” Stiles kept his eyes on the menu and hoped that his body language was neutral enough. After swiftly returning with drinks, their server left them alone.

                Derek took a sip of his water and asked, “So, did you like the movie?”

                “I did.” A warm smile filled Stiles’ face. “I like being out with you.”

                “Good.”

                “Oh, I almost forgot.” Stiles dove into his pocket and pulled out a sad, rumpled ten-dollar bill. The human smoothed it out before pushing it over to Derek’s side of the booth.  

                His boyfriend sighed fondly, faint traces of his smile still evident in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the soft lines around his mouth. “You’re ridiculous.”

                “Hey, I’m trying to romance you, and you’re ruining it.” Stiles chuckled and nudged Derek’s leg under the table with the toe of his tennis shoe.  

                “Ohhhhh.” Derek held onto the syllable just long enough for Stiles to acknowledge that his boyfriend was being an insincere smartass. Stiles was intimately familiar with the nuances of sarcasm and the theatricality it sometimes required. “So you were trying to ‘romance’ me when you grabbed onto my jeans and smeared synthetic butter all over them?”

                The teen blushed. “The volume made me jump at that one part. It was instinctual to grab onto something.”

                “Or when you shoved five whole gummy worms into your mouth at the same time? That was very romantic.” Derek was snickering, but he pulled Stiles’ hand across the table to kiss tenderly at his knuckles.  

                Stiles caved and grinned at the overgrown puppy sitting across from him. “Okay, I admit, I may not be able to romance you. But maybe a gentle wooing. I think I could woo the hell out of you.”

                “You don’t need to do either, Stilinski. I’m already yours.”

                The only thing that made the night better were the curly fries. Stiles ate both portions of them and gave Derek his burger instead.   


	19. Chapter 19

                Stiles could sense that there was an annual ritual surrounding Derek’s birthday. An elaborate dance in which Derek grumbled and complained about not wanting a party and the pack denied that they were going to plan one, all the while every single one of them—including Derek—knowing that they would. This time, Stiles was included in the scheming, primarily given the task of keeping Derek distracted and deflecting any interrogations from his boyfriend. Lydia, of course, had taken the reins on the food and coordinating everyone to arrive at the loft by a certain time.

                The lack of a fight from Derek made Stiles think that the wolf was used to it, or that he might even secretly enjoy being fussed over a little bit by his pack. Derek was all resigned sighs and eye rolls and brows of doom. In other words, all of his affectionate gestures.   

                Still, Stiles didn’t want to overwhelm Derek tomorrow with too much attention, so he decided to give him his gift the night before. Honestly, it would also be easier to give it to Derek without all of the extra eyes.

                The teen had made Derek his favorite dinner of well-done (surprisingly) steak and mashed potatoes, and after dropping the dishes into the sink to soak, he had pulled Derek over to the bed.

                “Stay right there.” The wolf shot him a quizzical look but agreed, nodding compliantly.

                With every stair Stiles climbed, his heart lurched with nerves. He pulled Derek’s present out of a shoebox he had tucked in the back of his closet, having snuck the box up from the downstairs apartment a few days ago when Derek and Malia had left to go pick up food for the pack. Stiles had been stashing it since, checking on it every day, irrationally, to make sure it was still there and intact.

                Wrapping a cylinder was awkward, not to mention that Derek’s goddamn wolf ears would probably hear the crinkling paper and then he would be found out. And Stiles had been keeping this surprise _a surprise_ successfully for weeks now. The stakes were too high for him to make a mistake this late.

                As an alternative, the human had borrowed a length of red satin ribbon from Lydia and tied it around the diameter and height of the box so that the bow sat on the top of the lid. Stiles was currently adjusting the bow, making sure the tails and loops were symmetrical, his hands trembling slightly. Before his resolve broke, he hid the box underneath his flannel and against his side, taking a deep breath and going back downstairs.   

                Derek was just where he left him, leaning back on his hands against the bedspread, his head twitching in response to the patter of Stiles’ feet on the floor.

                Stiles forewent trying to come up with some romantic or meaningful remark before giving Derek his gift. It would most likely manifest as something jumbled and incoherent and possibly insulting. So he pushed the box into Derek’s hands without a word, shoving it away impatiently as if it were on fire.  

                “For me?” Derek looked up at him with big, questioning eyes, and then dropped his attention back to the present. Gently, he pulled one end of the bow so that the ribbon unraveled. The box fit perfectly in Derek’s hands, about five inches tall, the circumference a little larger than the wolf’s palm.

                After a few seconds of silence, Stiles felt a knot tighten in his stomach, and he blurted, “I know that you’ve mentioned before that the tattoo on your back is sort of like your family’s symbol, so I thought—” The boy gestured half-heartedly at the raised carving on the top of the lid, a triskele that matched the ink between Derek’s shoulder blades.

                Derek’s fingers were tracing over the three interconnected spirals as Stiles babbled, his eyes intent on the box. He rolled the smooth wood between his hands, popped the lid off the box to look inside of it. His nonchalance was making Stiles incredibly edgy.

                Stiles bit the bullet and spoke up before Derek could summon some polite, compulsory platitude. “It’s okay if you don’t like it. Really. It’s an easy fix. I can just shave off the carving on the lid and sell it. It really wouldn’t take—”

                “I love it,” Derek interjected quietly, the sincerity palpable in his voice. “You spent so much time on this.”  

                Stiles blushed madly, never considering how he’d react if Derek actually liked his gift. He turned his burning cheeks to the floor and watched his socked foot scuff against the concrete. “I figured that you could put your car keys in it or something since you’re always losing them. Or whatever you want. ”

                 Derek rose from the bed with a determination and started roaming the loft, presumably for said keys to his Camaro. Stiles bit his lip to hide a giggle, watching Derek check the pocket of his leather jacket, the jeans he wore yesterday, and the living room end tables. The boy watched his wolf go through this same routine multiple times a week, and he finally took pity on his boyfriend. It was his birthday tomorrow after all.  

                “Have you tried the fridge?”

                Derek turned around mid-step to give him a look that suggested he wasn’t sure if Stiles was being a smartass or if he was crazy.

                “When you come home from the store or a run or something, you always go straight to the kitchen for a bottle of water, keys in hand. And you set them on the shelf while you take a drink, and half the time, you forget to grab them again. I’ve…found them in there a couple times.”

                The wolf went to the kitchen, and when he came back—keys sticking out of his fist—he was giving Stiles an entirely different look. One of the rare ones that suggested that Stiles had said or done something confounding.  

                Derek set the box on his nightstand and propped the lid against its side, dropping the keys into it with a muted jingle. He turned back to Stiles, his eyes affected and dark, and pulled him into a languid kiss. All the tension left the teen’s body until he felt like a rag doll, clinging against Derek for support.  

                “Thank you.” The wolf spoke lowly, throatily, thumbing along Stiles’ cheekbones. Derek’s voice was heavy with an emotion that Stiles didn’t anticipate, and the boy felt compelled to crush their mouths together once again.   

                “Can I ask for one more thing?” Derek mumbled.

                “Your birthday doesn’t start for another five hours, but I can bend the rules just this once.”

                Derek smiled against his lips and lured him into more kisses, hands groping along thighs, teasing at the outsides of hips. The wolf started pushing Stiles’ flannel off of his shoulders, and the human didn’t need another hint.

                They stripped out of their own clothes because they were more efficient when they undressed themselves. Well, Derek was at least. Somehow, Stiles had gotten one arm stuck inside his shirt, bent uncomfortably until it looked like a chicken wing was protruding from his right side.

                Derek spared him from further humiliation by tugging him free of his cloth confines, although he did laugh while he did it. Stiles’ huffs of indignation were cut short as the were slotted a thigh between his legs, pulling the teen flush against his chest. It was disorienting and messy in the best possible way. The movements of their grinding were a little disjointed, gripping each other while they rolled their hips in tandem, kissing furiously.

                Stiles was running his hands over the silky skin of Derek’s back, occasionally letting one drop to fondle Derek’s ass over top of his underwear. Boldly, he traced a finger down Derek’s cleft, pressing over his hole, and the wolf’s breath shuddered over his mouth.

                Initially, Stiles was worried he had gone too far. There were few things Stiles loved doing more than worshipping Derek’s ass, and the noises it typically provoked from Derek made him think that his boyfriend also enjoyed it. But maybe he shouldn’t have assumed.

                Derek hadn’t pulled away, but Stiles froze, still holding the wolf tightly in his arms. For a few seconds, they puffed hot breath across each other’s mouths, unmoving, until Derek nudged his nose against Stiles’.

                “Please. Don’t stop,” Derek whispered. As if to convince Stiles further, he caught the boy’s bottom lip between his teeth and sucked it softly into his mouth.

                Time felt like it was slowing down, every second being drawn out, as he stroked over Derek’s rim. His hands were gentle and slow and a little tentative, rubbing the clothed bulge of Derek’s cock, massaging his balls and the tender skin behind them.

                He was determined to make this so good for Derek, and he relished every little moan that the were pressed into his neck. Stiles adored how Derek pushed into his hands, mouthing deliriously at the human’s throat. That Derek trusted him enough to let himself get a little lost.

                “Stiles?” Derek pulled away, his eyes looking a little hazy, his mouth soft and parted.

                “I’ll give you anything, Der. Just ask me.”  

                A blush tipped his boyfriend’s ears, spread down to the apples of his cheeks. The wolf rubbed the sole of one bare foot against the other ankle, and a sense of privilege bloomed within Stiles. No one else got to see Derek like this; fragile and soft and pliant, immensely beautiful.  

                “Fuck me?”

                Stiles had suspected, but the affirmation of the words sent a thrill through him, electrified his nerves. “Yes. God, yes.”

                Derek eased himself down onto the bed in a manner that was beyond seductive, the sinew shifting gracefully underneath the skin of his back, the muscles clenching in the ripe swell of his ass as he lowered himself onto his hands and knees.

                Stiles absolutely, for no reason, wanted to tear his eyes away from that sight, his cock perking to full hardness almost immediately. As quickly as humanly possible, Stiles tore open Derek’s nightstand for lube and a condom.

                “No condom,” Derek murmured, his head tilted to the side so he could watch Stiles with black eyes, the earthy irises having been swallowed by lust. The wolf then let his head droop and swayed his hips a little, rolled his shoulders until they cracked, seemingly getting himself comfortable. And thereby driving Stiles absolutely insane.

                Stiles tore his underwear off and crawled onto the bed, dropping the lube somewhere, he wasn’t sure. He was too focused on Derek’s bowing body, his knees spread wide enough that Stiles’ groin muscles would tire in seconds in the same position.

                During one pack night, Malia had mentioned to Stiles the notion of buffets, where ravenous customers were let loose to feast as much as they wanted for as long as they wanted. The boy believed he was having a very similar experience right now.

                He scrabbled at the waistband of Derek’s underwear with blunt nails and peeled them off, Derek tilting his ass higher in the air to lift his knees out of them. Stiles whimpered under his breath, but it was still too loud for supernatural senses, and the wolf chuckled.

                Stiles placed a sharp nip against one ass cheek and that shut his boyfriend up pretty quickly. Derek’s frame quivered when he placed a kiss on his spine, fingers grazing over the thin skin covering the wolf’s rib cage. Derek’s breaths were a little heavy, making his ribs contract and expand under Stiles’ touch. It was a heady sensation to feel life coursing underneath his palms, like the nights he would sleep with his ear pressed against Derek’s heart.

                The human squirted a dollop of lube right over Derek’s hole, mesmerized by the glistening trail that ran down his perineum, how his rim clenched tightly in response to the coolness of the liquid.

                “Christ, Derek, you are gorgeous.” Stiles smoothed his hand around Derek’s hip and worked one finger into the exquisite, tight heat of Derek’s body. He was completely bewildered by the snug grip trying to pull him farther inside, imagining how sweetly the wolf would grasp around his cock.

                Stiles had paused, awestruck, before Derek made an insistent, discontent sound, goading him. By the third finger, Stiles was pulling the most stunning noises out of his boyfriend, working valiantly to find Derek’s prostate now that he had opened him up a little. A light sheen of sweat had covered Derek’s back so that his tattoo glistened like whorls of oil, his powerful thighs quaking. Stiles would like to think it was from his expert ministrations, but it might have been from holding his position for so long.

                When Stiles finally nudged the sweet spot inside of Derek, a celebratory choir rang inside of his head, and he sighed, delighted. Meanwhile, the were’s body seized up all at once, and he growled.

                “I’m ready, Stiles.”

                Stiles smeared some extra lube on his dick, the sensation good enough to make him grit his teeth in longing, squeeze the base of his cock.

                “Please, baby,” Derek urged.

                “It’s okay.” Stiles groaned brokenly as he inched his cock into Derek, so smooth and slick and unbelievably warm, almost febrile inside. Derek was like a pulsating vise grip around him, his muscles clenching spasmodically as Stiles bottomed out.

                “Der? Are you okay?” Stiles’ body was vibrating with restraint, one palm each resting on the bubble of Derek’s ass, spreading him open. He wanted nothing more than to pound deeply, brutally into Derek, to scratch the gnawing itch of arousal building inside of him.  

                “You’re perfect. That feels so fucking good, Stiles.”

                The wolf groaned when Stiles thrust back into him, tipping his ass even higher into the air. The teen adopted a sort of rhythm, undulating his hips, his forehead resting over Derek’s tattoo.  

                Stiles didn’t know how long he would be able to last, so he reached around to stroke Derek's cock, feeling the beginnings of his knot at the base. The tip of Derek’s dick was wet and slippery, making the glide of his hand easy. The human just moaned into Derek’s skin, feeling wrecked from how divine the wolf felt on both the inside and outside.

                A sudden shredding noise, like a cloth being torn down the middle, filled the air, and Stiles slowed the rocking of his hips. He had a guess what it had been, but he wasn’t sure.  

                “Derek, did you just eviscerate our bed with your claws?”

                “Just one pillow,” the wolf grunted.  

                Stiles laughed brightly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

                 His surly boyfriend pushed his ass back into Stiles’ oncoming thrust, and the boy released a devastated cry like he was the one getting fucked. He was so close, the urge to climax encouraging him to piston his cock faster, harder inside of Derek. Stiles was jerking Derek off with as much coordination as he could muster, trying to match the impact of his dick.

                Stiles came, eyes closed and bright white behind his eyelids, squeezing Derek’s knot hard until he heard the wolf’s soft whine moments later.

                Both wrung-out and lax, they spent a few seconds just catching their breaths, Stiles panting between Derek’s shoulder blades. The teen pulled out of Derek as gingerly as possible, and they flopped down on the bed, Derek rolling onto his back away from the puddle of his come.             

                Too much time had passed without feeling Derek’s mouth, so Stiles leaned over his wolf and captured his lips in an indecent kiss with lots of tongue. He pushed the damp hair away from Derek’s forehead, laughing when he saw the disemboweled pillow lying to the left of them.

                Stiles reached over and held up the pillow to assess the damage. There were ten distinct slashes, the cotton filling bulging out of some of them where Derek had ripped his claws outward to free them from the fluff.

                “You just had to destroy _my_ pillow, didn’t you?” Stiles joked, tossing it onto the floor. He would grab the one from his room upstairs later, when his bones solidified and he could stand again.

                “I’ll buy an extra supply of pillows, for next time,” Derek murmured, looking up at him with peaceful eyes, like the bottom of an undisturbed creek.

                Stiles was transfixed on them before blinking repeatedly. “Next time?”

                “I didn’t plan on this being a one-time occurrence. Did you?”

                “Definitely not,” the boy breathed.


	20. Chapter 20

                Stiles imagined that he and Derek had been luxuriating in what was known as “the honeymoon phase.” The last several months as a couple had been uninterrupted bliss. Sure, they squabbled every now and then, but Stiles’ level of sarcasm and Derek’s level of sass guaranteed it. Mostly, it was cuddles and laughing and lots of sex. Lots of it. But that was also to be expected since the pair of them consisted of a recently de-virginized teenage boy and a horny werewolf.

                They could scarcely sit through a meal without the human sliding his bare foot up Derek’s shin, only to find himself bent over the counter a moment later. Or watching a movie on the couch, Stiles tucked in between Derek’s legs with the wolf rubbing lazily at Stiles’ stomach. The petting would only last approximately thirty seconds—Derek abruptly abandoning all pretenses of foreplay—before the wolf dipped his hand down into Stiles’ pants and started jerking him off with a fury. Stiles would come, writhing and wrung-out, falling off the couch gracelessly so that he could rip open Derek’s jeans and suck his cock with equal vigor.

                While they were limited in the variety of acceptable places to have sex, they certainly made the best of a trying situation. The couch was unfortunately off-limits for anything intensive since neither one of them wanted to scar the pack or give them any more information about their sex lives that their noses already didn’t know. And Derek was now definitely regretting his choice of living in a chic, industrial apartment with _concrete_ floors because he refused to fuck Stiles on them. Throwing down a blanket to cushion the human’s joints and milky skin was too planned and inconvenient, and it defeated the whole point of fucking on the floor in the first place.  

                Essentially, that left the kitchen and the bed. Stiles spent an entire morning promising to scrub and sanitize the hell out of the kitchen table if he could just fuck Derek on it. The wolf caved, as he usually did with the human, and Stiles happily wiped down the table with three different cleaners afterwards in post-orgasmic bliss.

                 So, it was a little bit of a letdown when Stiles found them screaming their larynxes out a few weeks later. Inevitable, yes, but still a little jarring.

                The teen should have known. It was the same argument that they had been having since Stiles arrived nearly seven months ago.

                “Hey, Der?” Stiles asked idly, wrestling out of his shirt to pull on one of Derek’s worn, soft ones for bed. The first time he had done it, too lazy to go upstairs and grab a new shirt from his room, Derek had lost his mind. He had crowded behind the boy, inhaling him deeply, hands roaming with intent, and gritted out through his fangs that Stiles could borrow his clothes _whenever_ he liked.

                “Hmmm?” Derek had changed into a pair of gray sweatpants and nothing else, and it took the human a few seconds to remember what he was even going to say.

                “Well, the full moon’s only two days away, and I was wondering if we could…spend it a little differently this time.” Stiles bit his lip.

                “What did you have in mind?” Derek’s brow arched suspiciously, a natural response whenever Stiles had a proposition. At any other time, Stiles would have been pretended to be insulted, but he was thrumming with adrenaline and nervous energy, and Derek could probably feel it, too.

                “I know shifting relaxes you, but you’ve been saying how every month is getting easier and that you might not even need to shift at all pretty soon.” Stiles winced at the dynamic flailing of his arms, panting slightly from his outburst and the small, tight breaths in his lungs.

                A crease settled in the middle of Derek’s forehead, and the wolf flipped down his covers with a sharp efficiency. “Stiles, what are you trying to say?”

                “What if you stayed human this time? Or—well, mostly human. And we could—” Stiles’ hands flitted in a complicated, jerky gesture, and the boy hoped that Derek could translate it. Because asking his boyfriend if he wanted to have sex with him rather than scampering around the house as a wolf was marginally embarrassing.

                Derek’s interpreting skills proved proficient because a second later his face sharpened, nostrils flaring. “No,” he bit out. He turned away from Stiles, as if their conversation was over. Except they hadn’t discussed anything. Stiles wasn’t entirely sure they were even on the same page.

                The human swallowed painfully, his hands tucked around himself for support. It was only worse when they were free to flap around. “I was talking about sex. Not, like, cleaning the loft or performing a ritual sacrifice or something else awful, in which case I would understand if you objected.” Stiles finished lamely, his voice disjointed and halting.

                Derek’s hardened features were doing their best collective impersonation of a rock, and he simply growled out another “no.”

                “Why not?”

                “Because I said ‘no.’” Stiles’ eyes squinted closed slightly, a small plume of anger rising inside of him. He straightened himself up, hands clutching at the sides of his pajama pants.

                “Well, that’s not good enough, Derek. I deserve an explanation, especially since you don’t seem the least bit interested in actually talking to me about this.”

                “Stiles, it’s a stupid idea.” They were glaring at each other from across the bed, Derek violently fluffing his pillow before slamming it back down onto the mattress. “What’s wrong with you?” the wolf exclaimed a second later. “Is the sex that boring that you feel the need to up the stakes?”

                Stiles’ mouth dropped open like a gutted fish’s. “Derek, that’s not what I meant—”

                “Is this some kind of game to you? To see if you can tease me, have me fuck you when I’m half-shifted and out of my mind?” Derek was spitting words at him, rounding towards Stiles’ side of the bed.

                It felt like acid was running through Stiles’ veins. He might be smaller and unimpressively human, but he was not afraid of Derek. The teen didn’t stop until there was a foot of space between their chests. He could feel the strained bursts of air shooting out of his nose, his throat tightened with outrage and frustration.

                “I can’t believe that you think this is some bullshit attempt for thrill-seeking. That I would treat you like that.” Stiles’ voice was rising, but he couldn’t help it, couldn’t really care. He wanted to yell; he wanted Derek to really hear him. “Besides, if this was just about fucking a wolf, then I would go to Scott, not a stubborn ass like you.”

                Derek snarled at the context of the Alpha’s name, clenching his fists at his sides. But Stiles refused to cringe and waver, his body tense with fury, his eyes blazing.

                Pressing his hands over his eyes, Derek sighed, “This was a mistake. I’ll take you to Scott’s tomorrow. You can spend the full moon with your dad and Melissa.”

                “Are you kidding me, Derek? I’m not going anywhere.”

                The wolf exhaled, his eyes drifting to the floor, acting as if Stiles were some misbehaving child that he was no longer willing to humor. Well, fuck that, the teen was ready for a throat-scalding, glass-shattering, screaming match of a fight.  

                “ _Derek_ ,” Stiles shrieked, “I swear to god, if you write me off one more time, I’m going to tear your balls off.” He grabbed Derek’s wrist as the wolf turned away to climb into bed. In the middle of their conversation—well, argument.

                Derek had already decided what was best for the both of them and didn’t see any point in discussing the issue any further. Stiles could fucking read it on Derek’s face, and the boy saw red. If he were an Alpha, Derek would be whimpering on the floor right now.

                The beta tugged his hand free from Stiles’ grip, eyes glaring bright blue. “We are done talking about this.”

                “You don’t get to make decisions for the two of us, Derek. We’re _supposed_ to be in a relationship.”

                “I’m not changing my mind. It was a fucking stupid idea, reckless.” Stiles heard the neat _snk_ of Derek’s claws extending before he even saw them.

                While Derek was never one for many words, he was finding them pretty easily right now. Concern and insecurity hidden behind vicious barbs and stinging insults. “Do you see these? They could tear right through you, Stiles. Add a goddamn matching set of claw marks to your front. Did you ever think that maybe I know better than you about this? That maybe you could listen to me for once?”

                Stiles was experiencing a rare purity of anger. Until now, he had never understood the craving to hurt someone he loved during a fight. To find the most painful, dark corner of that person and just dig in.   

                He hissed out his words, spitting them like venom, hoping they hurt Derek as much as it hurt him to say them. “If you want someone to roll over for you, then you can send me the fuck back and buy someone else.”

                Stiles felt a flood of guilt and sickness slosh inside of his stomach the second the words hit the air, and he couldn’t face it just yet. He grabbed his phone and keys off the nightstand and stormed out, retreating to the empty apartment downstairs.  

                Maybe he was being a coward, flinging his toxic words and not staying around to see them sink into Derek’s skin. But he wasn’t being rational right now with his emotions peaking, and anything else he said would have done more harm than good.  

                He illuminated the lamp on his workbench and grabbed a piece of scrap wood on which to release his frustrations. But he was too unfocused and upset, and his shirt still smelled deliciously like Derek. After nicking his thumb with his carving knife for the third time, he threw the plank at the other side of the room. He wouldn’t have been able to make anything even half-decent right now anyways; his concentration and patience were shot.

                Mainly, Stiles just stared at the ceiling, mourning the catastrophe that had rapidly become his romantic life. The teen hadn’t been faultless in their fight, but he still didn’t agree with Derek. His boyfriend had been an ass. Annoyingly, he wasn’t even angry at Derek anymore. Now, it just felt wrong and unsettling to know that he and Derek were on shaky ground.

                After midnight, Stiles realized that he couldn’t spend the night downstairs. Derek would either come get him or would stay awake the whole night waiting for him to come home. The teen sighed and trudged back upstairs to the loft.

                Derek was reading on the couch when he came home, immediately dropping his book into his lap once Stiles entered.

                “You’re still up?” Stiles asked evasively, scratching his arm just so that his hands were occupied.

                “I wanted to make sure you got in okay.” The teen didn’t know why he was surprised by such a considerate remark. It wasn’t as if one fight would illegitimatize all of the affection and care they had for one another.

                Still, it was an awful feeling when Derek crawled into bed without a word, neither inviting nor refusing Stiles to join him. They were both too prideful, and the human went upstairs to the room he hadn’t slept in for months.

                It was dark and cold and not at all homey like he had first thought when he arrived and was just excited to have a room at all. Hours ticked by, and maybe Stiles had pulled the front of his shirt up to his nose to inhale that scent he was always immersed in while he slept. And if he did, in the hope that he might be able to fall asleep, well, no one else would know.

* * *

                As it turned out, he didn’t sleep at all, watching the sun filter in through the slats of the blinds covering his window. At around six, he heard Derek leave the loft for one of his extended runs.   

                Stiles stretched, cracking and popping joints, but he still felt terrible and exhausted. Replaying the words of their fight for the thousandth time in his head, he made breakfast, not even realizing until he finished the bacon that he had made enough food for two people.

                The teen wasn’t petty or immature enough to throw away perfectly good food—not to mention that long years with too little to eat had instilled him with a value to never waste anything. Sitting alone, he picked through his eggs and sighed. Derek was always starving after his runs, too, and it filled him with a terrible nausea to think about the wolf coming home to find nothing waiting for him.

                Stiles scooped half of the eggs and bacon onto an empty plate and set it in Derek’s spot, covering it with another plate so that it would stay warm. He poured water into the coffeemaker and set it to brew before going upstairs for a shower. Hopefully the damn chemosignals of despair in the kitchen would fade before Derek got back. However the hell that worked.

                Two hours later, Derek returned. He had taken a longer run than usual, perhaps his own method of catharsis. Stiles flicked off the television and left the loft almost immediately to go downstairs. He had no idea what to say to Derek, and the longer they went without talking, the harder it became to initiate a conversation. The teen was worried that another attempt would just lead to more arguing and that if they couldn’t get anywhere, things might actually get worse.

                Ten minutes passed, and Stiles heard his phone vibrate against the top of the workbench. He set down the block of wood he was gouging to check the message.

                _Thank you for breakfast. Please text me in a couple hours._

                Stiles smiled to himself, groaning, and thumped his head off of his folded arms. After spending the last several months wrapped in each other’s personal space, it felt strange for Derek not to be around. And it felt even worse to treat the wolf like a stranger, abstaining from eye contact and any significant form of interaction.

                The text was a small token of Derek’s affection, but it was enough to convince Stiles to make an effort as well. Once the full moon was out of the way, he would sit down with Derek, and they would figure this out. Because what they had together was too good to let go, and if Stiles had to sacrifice his ego and make the first move towards reconciliation, he could live with that.

                Stiles did text Derek several hours later to tell him that he was skipping lunch and to not make him anything. He had found some internal peace in the knowledge that he was being proactive about their situation. The time passed quickly once his mind was clearer and he could sink into his work.

                However, by six o’clock, his stomach was growling relentlessly, and he was starving. Maybe Derek could hear it from upstairs because a minute later, knocks were coming from outside.

                Stiles unlocked the door, and Derek was _right there_ , so close that Stiles could smell him, and Jesus, did he need to get a grip. All he wanted was to face-dive straight into Derek’s neck and climb him like a tree. The last twenty-four hours without the wolf had significantly lowered his tolerance to Derek’s attractiveness, and it was staggering to him now. Even with the bruised skin under Derek’s eyes and the unhappy lines at the corner of his lips.  

                “Did you have anything in mind for dinner? If not, I’m just going to start mixing leftovers from the fridge.”

                Stiles cleared his throat, blinking and tearing his gaze away from Derek’s eyes. “Oh, um, no. I’m good. You can just make whatever you want.” _Idiot_ , he mentally chided himself.

                The wolf’s face drew tight, and his eyes narrowed. “Lie,” he stated simply.

                “What?”

                “You’re lying. Don’t lie to me. You promised.”

                Stiles exhaled and scrubbed over his face, through his bird’s-nest hair “Derek, I just—”

                “No, I get it,” Derek sighed, his voice softening a little. “I’ll keep a plate for you in the microwave.” The wolf didn’t wait for a response, just turned and went back upstairs. Stiles felt like he was being swallowed by a black hole from the inside out.

                They were both so dense it was ridiculous, but Stiles needed to wait. He didn’t want to upset Derek and then make tomorrow harder for him. The boy could wait one more day…and then upset Derek if he had to.   

                Stiles didn’t stay very long after Derek visited. Not only was he dying to eat something, but he was becoming exhausted to the point where it was unsafe for him to operate semi-sharp equipment.

                On his way to the kitchen, they exchanged stilted “hellos” that made Stiles wince. God, he much rather preferred when he was the only one being awkward.

                True to his word, Derek had left him a plate of food in the microwave, crammed to the edges and piled high. The wolf knew he would be starving when he finally came up for a meal. Goddamnit. Stiles was slightly relieved to be eating alone because he _inhaled_ his food, and it was not alluring in any sense of the word.

                He thanked Derek for dinner and muttered about going to bed early that night. They both looked tired and beaten-up, so the wolf just nodded solemnly. Stiles could sense those eyes on his back, and even though it felt counterintuitive to walk away from Derek, the boy dragged himself upstairs for another lonely night.

* * *

                It had to have been late because his room was pitch-black except for the one nightlight in the outlet. Derek had bought it for him after Stiles had tripped for the _n_ th time trying to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Recently, he hadn’t needed it because the windows near Derek’s bed always let in enough moonlight to see.

                He started awake, feeling a light but unmistakably warm pressure on his shoulder.

                “It’s just me, Stiles. It’s okay.”

                Stiles’ first instinct was to panic. “What’s wrong? Is someth—”

                “Shh,” Derek murmured, his silhouette sitting on the edge of the bed, causing it to dip. “No, everything’s fine. Calm down.”

                “Then what are you—”

                “I need you, Stiles.” He whispered into the darkness, making the human’s hair stand on end, his gut clench in anticipation. “I can’t stand you being angry with me…and I can’t sleep without you,” the wolf finished so quietly that Stiles had to strain his non-supernatural ears to hear it.

                “I know we still need to talk about things, but I’m…I’m crawling out of my skin. Come back.” A hand cupped his cheek, just for a second, and when it pulled away, Stiles snatched it back and pressed it firmly against the side of his face.

                “Yes,” he wheezed, with a little less finesse than intended, a little too much desperation.

                Derek stood up, outlined in soft gold, faceless, and his hand was poised in mid-air, offering, waiting. When Stiles took it, an unsteady breath escaped the wolf’s lips.

                Gentle slaps of bare feet sounded against the floors, their fingers intertwined with Derek leading Stiles through the darkness.

                The first feel of Derek’s crisp sheets against his knees made him want to cry in relief. He scurried up to his side of the bed and dove under the covers, the cool night air enough to chill him.

                He heard the soft huff of Derek’s laugh, inextricably mingled with affection. The wolf settled in a moment later, letting the blankets pool at his waist.

                “This is better.”

                “So much,” Stiles agreed, slipping a hand under the side of his face so he could look more comfortably at Derek.

                “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Derek murmured in a quiet rush. “And for being a dismissive asshole.”

                “It’s not the yelling that bothered me so much as the subtle insinuation that I was using you for some adrenaline-seeking, werewolf kick.” Stiles smiled softly, skimming his hand over Derek’s hip.

                Derek blinked rapidly, his eyes flickering away from Stiles’ face before returning. “I know you would never be thoughtless like that, Stiles. Or cruel. I know that. But sometimes I don’t understand why you let me do the things that I do with you, why you would want to.”   

                “I’m pretty gone on you if you didn’t notice,” Stiles commented, imagining the rosy blush tipping Derek’s ears, “so I don’t care. I want you every way.”

                “I don’t want to hurt you, Stiles.”   

                “I don’t need you to protect me from yourself. More importantly, I don’t want you to think that I was angry just because you said ‘no.’ It would have been so much worse if you decided to go along with it and didn’t want to. You know that, right? You can always say ‘no,’ and even if I don’t agree, I’ll respect your decision.”

                Stiles found himself shuffling close to Derek, tipping their foreheads together. It always made it easier to get the words out like that. “It takes two people to fight, and I said hurtful things that were untrue. I’m sorry, too.”

                Derek laughed, which was a little shocking considering the circumstances. “You’re worried about pressuring _me_ into sleeping with you? You’re a rare one, Stilinski.”

                “Someone has to worry about you, Hale.” The smile slipped from the teen’s face to be replaced by a more serious expression. “I can’t sleep without you either.”

                A moment later, Stiles felt himself being dragged in close to Derek’s body, his face pillowed on Derek’s chest. Stiles indulged himself and hooked one leg over Derek’s hip.

                “We should probably get some sleep. We’re gonna be exhausted tomorrow,” Derek sighed.

                The human snuggled into the softness of Derek’s chest hair, kissing his sternum sleepily. “It won’t be that bad. You usually just lay on me the whole night while I scratch your ears.”

                The wolf chuckled darkly, in a way that made a bolt of pleasure run down Stiles’ spine. “No, I meant when we fuck at the peak of the full moon…and the several hours following it, of course.”

                Stiles flung his head up from Derek’s chest so quickly that he nearly gave himself whiplash. He stumbled desperately over his words before insisting, “Derek, we _don’t_ —”

                Derek shook his head gently. “No, I want to. I want to try.”

                Stiles inhaled sharply and rose onto one elbow so that he could look at his boyfriend. “That’s all I’m asking. Is for us to try. If it doesn’t feel right, or it’s uncomfortable, we’ll stop. Right away.”

                Derek smiled, warmly, full of trust, Stiles’ heart fluttering at the pretty sight. “I know.”

                The teen dropped his head back to Derek’s warm skin. He felt so content and whole again, where he belonged.

                A few minutes passed in silence, and Stiles was nearly asleep when his eyes shot back open. He had almost forgotten. “Did you say _hours_?”

                Derek made a pleased grunt before kissing Stiles’ forehead and pulling the boy in closer to him.


	21. Chapter 21

                Typically, Derek was the one who looked like the walking dead the morning after the full moon. The shift into a full wolf compared to his beta shift took considerably more energy, and even then, he had to spend hours fighting his heightened instincts. However, Derek was fit and had a supernatural metabolism, so it didn’t take his body long to shed its fatigue and soreness. He was usually in tip-top shape again once he took a shower and had breakfast.

                On the other hand, Stiles was human and still a little scrawny, if not underweight anymore, and he had a boring, compromising metabolism that took a small blow after hours of marathon sex. That’s not to say that Stiles regretted the experience because it had been, in one word, _magical_.

                Derek had still been nervous at first, when his impulses started rising and his blood grew hot. Watching Derek ride him with the most hypnotizing rolls of his hips had truly been a sight to see. Once the wolf had felt a little more composed, Stiles found himself on his knees for a significant portion of the night, the side of his face resting against the bedcovers once his arms gave out. He had lost all track of time after that, but he knew there had been many positions and many orgasms, and he was stiff and achy and drained the next morning. Derek had been the one to wake him up for breakfast, counter to their usual post-full moon practice.

                Stiles had lounged around that first day, napping frequently, most of the time on top on his warm boyfriend. Derek had taken pity on him, not even complaining about the drool stains on his shirt. Still, the teen had youth on his side, so after a full day of recovery, he was back to his hyperactive self.

                Next on the agenda was washing every piece of fabric that had touched their bed. Sheets, pillowcases, blankets; everything had to be washed. Even Stiles could smell the come and sweat on them, and he did not want to be heckled by the pack when they came over the following day.

                Half a gallon of detergent later, and his Supernatural friends still noticed. What a waste.

                Malia had pinched her nose shut when she entered, glaring daggers at her cousin before grumbling to Lydia. At the same time, Scott had whispered something in Kira’s ear that made her blush and giggle.

                Stiles was still clinging to the thread of hope that they hadn’t pieced together what happened on the full moon, but Kira swiftly cut that thread. When the kitsune leaned in for a hug, she had whispered the word, “stamina,” before giving a Stiles a wink that suggested the pair of them shared a private secret. Or belonged to an exclusive club of people who enjoyed full-moon sex with their wolfy lovers. It was the first time he had ever really seen the mischievous nature of Kira’s inner fox, and he had to say it suited her.

* * *

                That evening, he and Derek planned to go to Scott’s for their weekly visit. John not only spoke to Derek when they came over now; he genuinely seemed to enjoy the wolf’s company. Two weeks ago, Stiles had walked in on them laughing together in the living room. _Laughing._    

                Stiles was folding the rest of the laundry, perched on the couch and watching television while his hands maneuvered the fabric automatically between his long fingers. Meanwhile, Derek was in the kitchen cleaning up after lunch. Sometimes it was laughable how domestic their lives could be.     

                The day remained unremarkable until they heard a knock on the front door. The only people who ever came to the loft were the pack, and they didn’t knock. They intruded…lovingly.

                Derek was similarly suspicious. He entered the living room with wet hands and motioned for Stiles to stay on the couch. It could actually be a tenant now that Stiles knew other people did, in fact, live in the building with them.

                Derek only opened the door two feet, and his bulk shielded their visitor from Stiles’ sight. He saw high heels, and heard a feminine voice, but the person wasn’t immediately familiar.

                Until he saw her face, and then recollection slammed into him like a colliding car.

                Derek moved to the side so that she could enter and closed the door behind the woman with a little too much force.

                Stiles dropped the shirt he was holding back into the basket and walked over to Derek’s side, his heart already hammering. He noticed the dark, rigid expression on the wolf’s face. If the teen hadn’t been entirely convinced that something terrible was happening, he was now.  

                The woman casually glanced around the loft before fixing her attention back on Derek. The combination of her painted, ruby lips and white, shining teeth made her grin look truly bloodthirsty. It wasn’t a sight Stiles could forget, no matter how many months had passed. His eyes flicked to the brass name pin on her lapel, confirming that she was the same representative from the Auction.  

                The irregularity of the situation had made Stiles anxious enough to forget proper behavioral conduct, and he instantly dropped his eyes to the floor in alarm.  

                “Thank you for inviting me in, Mr. Hale. I’m sure you already know what this meeting is about.”

                “An appeal,” Derek stated, crossing his arms over his chest. Stiles didn’t understand what that meant, but Derek said the word with a graveness that made the teen think it wasn’t good. He clasped his hands together when they started trembling, in an attempt to stifle his building hysteria.  

                “Indeed.” She opened a manila folder that she had been cradling in the crook of one arm. “Your Assistant’s file says that he’s been living with you for just over seven months. Is that correct?”

                Derek answered with an icy “yes.” The wolf’s rudeness seemed to stretch beyond his general dislike for most strangers. He held a specific animosity towards this woman, and Stiles suspected there was more to it than the fact that he had no respect for the Industry she represented.

                However, Stiles did find an unexpected comfort in Derek’s tactlessness. If the were wasn’t backing down and kissing ass, it probably meant that the situation wasn’t dire or hopeless.   

                The woman looked over at Stiles, and he could feel her eyes burning into the crown of his head. Without moving his head beyond a respectful level, Stiles noticed that she was dressed in the same sharp, wrinkle-free skirt suit, her makeup undoubtedly neat and precise. The woman projected a cutthroat professionalism that made Stiles’ stomach churn.

                She could literally sign his life away with the flick of a pen, and the human had already escaped her clutches once. He couldn’t imagine what else she would have returned for except him.  

                “My, my, you’ve certainly been feeding him. He’s filled in nicely. There’s some color in those cheeks.”

                Derek growled under his breath. “What do you want?”

                The representative smiled brighter, killing with kindness. “Merely to conduct a standard examination of your human, of course.”

                “No,” the wolf snarled. Under most circumstances, Stiles hated being talked about like he wasn’t there, but this time, he felt relieved that Derek was arguing on his behalf.

                The woman’s smile dropped into a purse. It seemed that her faux-cordiality couldn’t withstand Derek’s uncooperativeness. Stiles knew first-hand that his boyfriend could be obstinate, unapologetically so if he desired.

                “Mr. Hale, I was hoping we could be professional about this. I’ve waited the prescribed six months before applying for my appeal, and I’m well within my rights to examine him before making an offer. Do not make me go back to the court to reschedule another appointment. It would be a waste of both of our time.”

                An “offer”? Fine tremors started wracking Stiles’ body, and he bit into his bottom lip. He could sense Derek’s discomfort by his tense posture, but the wolf didn’t reach out to comfort him. Stiles didn’t really want to share such a private and emotional sight with this woman anyway, and maybe Derek felt the same.

                Honestly, if Derek did touch him, the boy predicted that he would start bawling. For now, it was best that Stiles remained in his own self-contained world, trying to keep himself together while other people— _again—_ bargained over his future.    

                Derek redoubled the harshness in his voice and muttered, “Fine.”

                The woman nodded and added, “The examination will take place under your supervision, naturally. I’m going to ask a few questions about his physical state and then assess him.”

                “Could you have him lift his head for me?” The woman paused, waiting for Derek’s permission. It was unwise to give another Supernatural’s human orders, and she certainly wasn’t an amateur in her field.

                “It’s okay, Stiles.” The wolf spoke to him with a reserved softness, and Stiles picked his head up to a normal level, unable to stop himself from flashing his wide, fearful doe eyes at Derek.

                His boyfriend nodded, trying to reassure him. Stiles could jump through a few hoops, especially if it meant having this woman leave as quickly as possible.

                The representative approached Stiles and stopped in front of him, balancing her open folder on a clipboard she brought with her. She had produced a pen from her jacket pocket and was ready to start recording.  

                “Mr. Hale, what is your Assistant’s name?” Obviously, Derek would speak for him. The Masters and Mistresses always knew better than their pets.       

                “Stiles Hale. Formerly Stilinski.”

                “Age?” The woman was jotting down notes in a rapid scrawl, half of the time not even looking down at her paper. It was uniquely disturbing.

                “Nineteen.”

                “Is he sexually active?”

                “That’s none of your business,” Derek gritted out, his eyes flashing electric blue.

                With a sigh, the representative stopped writing. “It’s completely understandable to feel possessive over your Assistant, but considering I’m assessing him for placement in the Companion Industry, yes, it’s my business. Please answer the question.”

                Stiles had internally crumbled when she said “placement.” That meant leaving Derek, leaving the pack and his father. The kind of things he would have to endure, being passed from one customer to another like a party favor. His life was one overwhelming uncertainty right now, looming over his head like a dark cloud ready to strike him down.

                The boy’s knees wobbled, and he suppressed a sob. The burning in his throat and eyes was intense enough to make the tears overflow and run down his cheeks. He was proud of himself for keeping the crying silent.

                “Yes,” Derek eventually replied. Thankfully, the wolf made no notice of his tears. It would only make everything so much more painful.

                The woman hummed, almost sounding displeased as she scribbled down more notes onto the papers inside of her folder. Stiles knew that virgins were valuable commodities as Companions and generated significant revenue as escorts and first-time prostitutes. Select patrons would always pay obscene amounts of money to make the first mark on a virgin.  

                “Any venereal diseases or other health conditions?”

                “No.”

                “Would you be willing to specify any apparent _skills_ or _aptitudes_ you’ve noticed in your Assistant?” Stiles felt a hot wave of embarrassment flush through him, drying the tears on his cheeks and the leaving the skin tacky. It didn’t escape his attention that she was referring to a distinct set of skills. 

                “No,” the wolf repeated with even more venom.

                “Wonderful. I’ll need to do the physical examination now. Mr. Hale, could you ask your human to remove all of his clothes?”

                “Out of the question.” The only other time Stiles had seen Derek this incensed was the night he had been attacked. The wolf had tried to grind the other guy into paste against a brick wall. This time, Derek was bound by yards of legal red tape, and he couldn’t do a damn thing to this representative.  

                The woman sighed, like Derek was being terribly unreasonable, and compromised. “Very well. He may keep his undergarments on.”

                Stiles tried to swallow, but the dryness of his throat resulted in a fit of coughing. Goose bumps raised all over his skin when he removed his shirt and kicked off his pants, pushing them to the side with his foot. He stood in nothing but his socks and underwear, feeling unbearably frail.

                “Do I have permission to touch your human, Mr. Hale?”               

                “ _No_.” Stiles heard the bones crack in Derek’s hands as he clenched them into fists. The woman seemed unfazed by the act of aggression, probably used to the territoriality of werewolves. For all Stiles knew, she could be some dangerous creature herself.

                 The representative conceded to Derek’s demand and did not place a hand on Stiles, for which the teen was grateful.

                “I’m going to check his eyes and his teeth to make sure they’re healthy,” she informed Derek before turning back to Stiles. The human proceeded to stick out his tongue, pull his lips away from his teeth so that she could check them along with his gums. He had to do the same thing with his eyes, spreading his eyelids taut as she inspected his sclerae.

                The whole procedure was humiliating and off-putting, and Stiles wasn’t sure whether the lack of sexual motivation made the situation better or worse. The representative scrutinized him clinically and in a matter-of-fact manner. Like a piece of merchandise. His nakedness was just a means to examine how thin he was, how strong, if he had any deformities, alterations, or unbecoming scars. She didn’t take any pleasure from seeing his body.  

                She had walked a circle around him and _tsk_ ed at the two faint, pink lines zigzagging down his back. For the first time since she arrived, Stiles felt something other than fear. He felt a burst of indignant rage because she probably assumed that Derek had given him those marks, playing too hard or too carelessly. She was too ignorant to understand that Derek wasn’t like other Supernaturals, that he didn’t hold just a superficial or patronizing fondness for his Assistant like others did.   

                Stepping back in front of Stiles, she finished writing in her file before closing it with a crisp smack. “Well, he’s lovely. He would be a definite success. How much would you like for him?”

                Stiles had turned his back to redress and nearly fell over trying to pull on his jeans. His arms were shaking so violently that it took him several tries to button them closed. He snuffled as quietly as he could, feeling his nose start to run as his eyes burned again. He was straining every muscle in his body, trying to remained composed and not curl in on himself and scream.

                “He’s not for sale.” Derek’s nostrils flared.

                “I’m willing to start at one thousand. Twice what you paid for him.”

                “There’s no amount of money you could offer me.”

                “There’s always the replacement option.” The woman opened the folder again and held a sheet of paper out to Derek. “I’ve brought a few samples for you to look at. Some of the most beautiful boys and girls in the state.”

                The wolf didn’t budge from his hostile stance and ignored the paper in front of him. “Let me rephrase. There’s nothing you can offer me that will make me want to sell him. Assessment’s over. Leave.”

                The woman slid the paper back into her folder and tucked it back under her arm. “I see,” she remarked sourly. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Hale.”

                Stiles felt himself cracking to pieces, and once he heard the loft door slide closed, he dropped to his knees, his arms cradled against his stomach. His breaths were irregular and shallow as he pressed his forehead to the smooth, cold concrete.  

                Derek gathered him into his arms from behind, pulling him back against his chest. The hyperventilation was making Stiles overly warm, his chest tight and uncomfortable, and these pained, gaping noises started pouring out of him.

                “I’m sorry you had to go through that, but she’s not coming back, sweetheart. Try to breathe with me.” Derek’s voice was hushed but urgent as he supported Stiles.

                The teen shook his head and started sobbing earnestly, releasing ugly noises. Every time he tried to stop, these tiny, hitched breaths would rattle inside of him and he would feel like he was suffocating.

                Stiles couldn’t tell if he was swaying or if Derek was rocking them, but the world kept moving around him.

                He took a sip of breath and hiccupped. “Derek, I-I don’t—”

                “Don’t try to talk yet. Just try to slow down your breathing.” Derek guided his inhales and exhales for several minutes. _In and out, in and out._ In the middle of repeating the mantra, he picked Stiles up under the knees and carried him to the couch.

                When the teen felt steady enough to speak again, he croaked, “I don’t want to leave, Derek. I don’t want to leave you or our pack.”

                 “No one can take you. She can’t file another appeal after I’ve turned her down the first time, and no other Industry has a claim on you. You’re not going anywhere.” Derek stroked through the boy’s hair, feeling his lingering shivers and an unsettled heart beat.

                “They still have their hooks in me, Derek. They just hadn’t pulled on the line for a few months.” The thought shook him down to the core and before he could stop himself, he whispered, “Nothing’s ever really safe.”  

                The wolf tipped Stiles’ chin up so that he could see the troubled expression carving lines into Derek’s face. “Maybe. I remember the first time I saw you, standing on that stage. Tear-stained and scared. I didn’t know how I felt about you, but I heard you say ‘please’ to me during the Auction, and I knew I couldn’t leave you behind. And now that I’m completely in love with you, I would do anything to keep you with me, for as long as you wanted.”  

                Stiles cleared his throat, but his voice was still scratchy and uneven. “In case you were wondering, my heart’s going haywire this time because I love you, too.”

                For a second and a half, Stiles maintained total composure, and then he launched himself at Derek, his wolf’s arms coiling tightly around him.           

                “We have to tell the pack about the appeal. And your dad this time, too, you know that, right?”

                “Is this a ‘threat against one of us is a threat against all of us’ kind of thing?” Stiles slurred with his face pressed against Derek’s shoulder.

                “Something like that.” Stiles could hear the faint smile in Derek’s voice. “You really think you’re going anywhere with that many people fighting for you?”  


	22. Chapter 22

                Stiles didn’t remember when he moved to the couch, but it must have been some time during the night. The whole loft had been cast in a bluish-gray glow from the moonlight seeping into the shadows. He had dropped onto the couch with an _oomph_ , miraculously not waking Derek, and had fallen back to sleep in under a minute. He didn’t wake again until the first light of sunrise was streaming into the apartment.  

                “Baby?” The voice was thick and rough, still clogged with sleep. A warm hand pushed the hair off of Stiles’ forehead, and the teen hummed quietly.

                Derek looked tense, trying to appear unruffled but mostly failing. His eyes were flicking a little too frantically across Stiles’ face. “What are you doing out here?”

                “’m sick and all gross. I’d get my gross germs in your bed,” the boy mumbled, pulling his blanket back up to his shoulders as he curled tighter into the fetal position. He was freezing but too tired to get up and grab another blanket from the closet.

                “You’re so hot, Stiles.”

                The teen giggled in delirium and remarked, “You are. As well. My wolfy, furry boyfriend. ’m gonna go back t’ sleep now.”

                “I’ll be right back. Stay on the couch for me.” Derek pressed a kiss to his burning forehead, but Stiles didn’t notice it. He had already drifted back into a heavy unconsciousness.

* * *

                Time felt even more fractured the next time Stiles awoke. He wasn’t sure if he had slept through to the following day or if he had only been napping for a few hours.  

                He was disoriented, and his present headache made his mind sluggish. A dull ache was permeating his body, making his limbs feel leaden and sore.

                He wasn’t cold anymore, aware enough of his body to notice the weight of a newly added blanket resting on top of him. The pocket of air underneath the covers was scorching, but Stiles felt neither overheated nor sweaty.  

                “Hey, you’re up.” Derek spoke softly, crouching down in front of the couch. Judging by his quick response, Stiles imagined that his wolf had been sitting close by, waiting for him.

                “I feel like vomit,” Stiles grumbled, slitting his eyes open. The bright light from the windows and the skylights were doing nothing good for the pulsing against his skull.

                “Are you cold? You were shivering earlier. I’m not supposed to give you another blanket because it could make you hyperpyrexic.”

                Nodding was more painful and exhausting than talking was, so Stiles replied, “I’m snug as a bug in a rug.”

                The human heard the soft rustling of a plastic bag, like the kind the Consumers used for packing their groceries. “I have pills for headache, cough syrup, a combination fever reducer and pain reliever. Tell me what hurts.”

                “Where did you get all of that?” Stores hardly sold medicine anymore, and the pharmaceutical industry had taken an irreversible nosedive in the last century. Research and funds weren’t exactly being dedicated to that area of science anymore.

                “Melissa. She said you probably had the flu, based on the symptoms I gave her, but she wanted to make sure you had whatever you needed.”

                “She’s th’ best. Love her. Love you, too, for taking care ’f me,” Stiles slurred. 

                 “Do you think you could sit up? I need to keep you hydrated.”

                “Yep, but you gotta help me. Living room keeps tilting.” Sitting up required Stiles to snake his arms out of his blankets, feeling the captured heat dissipate into the surrounding environment. The teen gritted his teeth at the wash of cool air that attacked him, which only intensified his head pain and made him erupt into shivers again.

                Derek swaddled him back up to his neck in the covers, chanting, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

                He gingerly tipped a glass of water to Stiles’ lips, and the human didn’t realize how thirsty he was until he started drinking. Stiles swallowed greedily until Derek pulled the glass away.

                “Easy. Take a little bit at a time.” He offered Stiles small sips until half of the water was gone and then fed him two capsules of some kind of medication.

                “Water tastes funny. But ’s good.” Stiles felt himself tipping sideways slightly, propped against the back of the couch, but he wasn’t really fighting it. Keeping himself vertical was hard right now, and the blood redistribution made his head thump.

                “It’s room temperature. I’m not supposed to give you anything cold because your body might compensate by increasing your core temperature further. Or anything hot. There were a lot of things Melissa told me I should and shouldn’t do. I probably should have written them down.”

                Stiles was only hearing about half of what Derek said, but his voice was soothing, and his boyfriend was cute and seemed anxious.

                “You’re cute, Der.” Stiles closed his eyes and found it easier to focus on words and sounds that way. He was positive that he heard a sigh.

                “Are you hungry? Or do you want to sleep more?”

                “Sleep,” Stiles cheered, interrupted halfway through by a well-timed yawn.

                “We’ll try some soup later? And maybe a shower to make you feel better?”

                “Indubitably,” the teen stated solemnly before snuggling back down into his pillows.

                “Okay, baby.”

* * *

                Stiles didn’t move his ass from the couch until some ludicrous hour the next morning. Derek had stayed with him, pretending to read in the recliner, despite the boy’s many attempts to tell him to go to bed. Although, Stiles kept dozing off in the middle of his sentences, so his argument wasn’t that compelling.

                He sighed in relief when he woke up soaked in perspiration. The worst was over now. He felt smothered, kicking his mound of blankets to the other side of the couch. Stiles savored the fresh air as it evaporated the sweat from his skin. He felt significantly better with his fever broken but was still experiencing its residual achiness and exhaustion.  

                Not only had Stiles’ body been exerting itself to fight whatever infection or pathogen had infested it, but it had been doing so with zero boosts of energy. Stiles hadn’t eaten anything for over twenty-four hours, and he felt weak and dizzy when he first tried to stand.

                Instantly, Derek was there, stabilizing him as Stiles croaked for a shower. He was disgusting and sticky and stale. If the human hadn’t felt so worn, he would have squawked about being escorted to the bathroom like a toddler. Even though he appreciated Derek’s patience and compassion and would most likely have fallen over without his boyfriend’s sturdy arms guiding him.

                The teen undressed himself, he was proud to say, balancing against the ledge of the sink. After witnessing Stiles wrinkle his nose at each article of clothing he removed, Derek promised to wash every piece of fabric that had been defiled by Stiles’ “germs.”    

                Derek made the water lukewarm so that Stiles’ body didn’t need to adjust and then slid in behind the human. The wolf essentially propped him against his own body since Stiles felt as wobbly as a newborn colt and allowed the water to sluice down the teen’s back. Stiles leaned into Derek and let himself be lathered with soap, his scalp being massaged with shampoo until he purred.

                Now that Stiles was relaxed and comfortable but still lightheaded, walking had become a virtual impossibility. Derek realized the same thing and set him on the lid of the toilet seat so that the wolf could dry him off and help him into a pair of soft boxers and a loose shirt. Apparently, the lightweight clothing would aid Stiles’ body in regressing to its normal temperature. The fact that Derek sounded like an authentic Med after one brief visit with Melissa made Stiles bubble inside with adoration. His boyfriend was the best of all the boyfriends, excluding Scott and his father, of course.  

                Derek coaxed him into eating a bowl of soup, even though it felt unnatural at four o’clock in the morning. The only time the were left his side was to change the movie, and unlike Stiles, Derek had not spent most of yesterday sleeping. Even with supernatural endurance, the fatigue was starting to show.   

                “Der, go take a nap at least. I’m fine.”   

                “I’m good,” the wolf mumbled, moving the arm that was around Stiles to rub the boy’s shoulder.

                Stiles sighed. He wasn’t sure if he was becoming more adept at reading Derek, or if his boyfriend trusted him enough now to make himself more emotionally accessible. Either way, Stiles needed to nip this trail of bad thoughts in the bud.

                “Hey.” Stiles’ fingers pushed lightly at the side of Derek’s jaw until the wolf turned his head from the TV. “I’m okay. I get sick sometimes. Colds and the flu are pretty common, and I’ve had a lot worse. Just ask my dad.”

                Derek seemed to pale at the idea that Stiles could be more ill than he was yesterday. “I’m not used to sickness.”

                “I know,” Stiles said gently.

                “I wouldn’t have known what to do if Melissa wasn’t there.” A tormented crease formed between Derek’s brows, and he looked down at his hands.

                “Well, she was. And you were smart enough to go to her when you were out of your depth. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

                Derek shook his head. “Stiles, you looked awful. Limp and-and…” _Lifeless_ , Stiles imagined, but the wolf didn’t say the word out loud. “And you didn’t smell right.”

                A pang of emotion shot through Stiles. Derek’s comment was frighteningly similar to a conversation he had had with Scott in his car several months ago. Except that he and the Alpha had been talking about Allison.  

                “It was a little sweet,” Stiles stated, knowing that he was right before the wolf even gave him his confirmation.

                Derek’s head snapped up from his lap suddenly to stare at Stiles, and he nodded, his face looking haunted. The boy was well aware who Derek’s ghost was. To Stiles’ knowledge, the only experience Derek had ever had with a sick human before was a terminal one. What else would the wolf think when Stiles started exhibiting the same sickly scent?

                It was a specific sort of pain that Stiles felt when he realized that Derek had probably been drowning in worry and personal turmoil the last day over a _flu_. Terrified at the prospect of Stiles _dying_ from a practically routine illness, and the teen didn’t know how to emphasize any further that he was fine.   

                Stiles dragged Derek forward into a kiss that probably tasted like chicken noodle-O’s. “How do I smell now?”

                “Better. Like yourself…and me.”                

                “Just how I like it.” The boy winked, smiling at his wolf.

                Derek groaned and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. “I know I’m being neurotic and blowing this out of proportion. The last few days have just been…trying.”

                “For me, too. I understand.” Stiles brushed his hand down Derek’s spine, thinking about how the representative had only been here four days ago. That alone had been enough to disturb Stiles’ sleep schedule, and then he got the flu. It was certainly not shaping up to be his best week either.

                It seemed that Derek was just as scared of losing Stiles as the teen was of being taken away from his new family.  

                In fact, telling the pack about the appeal had been, in no uncertain terms, unpleasant.

                Breaking the news to the members that had always been Supernaturals—Lydia, Kira, and Malia—hadn’t been too awful. While the girls had been concerned to find out that Stiles was even targeted for an appeal, they understood the legal limitations of such an application. After all, appeals were part of _their_ legal system. The three of them had probably learned about appeals in elementary school between reading lessons and snack time.

                No, the hard part had been assuaging the others, like Melissa, John, and Scott, a group which consisted of two humans and a novice Supernatural. They were significantly less informed, through no fault of their own. Stiles had watched his father’s face redden to a frightening shade before the middle-aged man had pounded on the coffee table and barked, “Not again!” It really set the mood for such an awful conversation.

                Derek had assured them at least ten times in ten different ways that Stiles could not be forcibly  removed from his ownership by any legal means. And that the possibility of someone trying to take him through illegal ones would be thoughtlessly risky.

                Which led to the beta reasoning that hardly anyone, especially a government official, would chance kidnapping an Assistant and getting caught. Not when there were so many other humans that would be easier and cheaper to obtain and the sanctioned punishments included life imprisonment or justifiable death by the Assistant’s owner. Most Supernaturals would never consider placing that much value on one human. At that point, the wolf had squeezed Stiles’ hand and given him a sideways glance.  

                The logic and rationale had appealed to the more skeptical members of his pack, but everyone was still shaken by the threat of Stiles being taken away. And yet, their shared anger and grief had a solidifying effect on the entire pack, and Stiles had never felt closer to each of them.

                “Here, come with me.” Stiles stood up from the couch with caution, taking his time, and held out a hand to Derek.

                Not quite ready to question Stiles’ thinking, the wolf took it wordlessly. Stiles led them over to their bed and manhandled Derek until he was lying on his side in the middle of the mattress. With great pleasure, the human crawled in behind him and wound one arm underneath Derek’s so that his hand was splayed over his boyfriend’s chest.

                “Can you feel my heartbeat against your back?”  

                “Yes,” Derek exhaled.

                “Good. Consider it my lullaby. Now go to sleep. You’re exhausted.”

                Stiles planted a kiss behind the wolf’s ear and then pressed his face into Derek’s nape. So what if Stiles had slept for eighteen hours yesterday. They could both use the rest.       


	23. Chapter 23

                Stiles was just pulling the eggs out of the fridge for breakfast when Derek returned to the loft.   

                “How was your…run?” Stiles had craned over his shoulder midsentence to greet his boyfriend, his thumbs still digging into the albumen of the egg he was about to crack.

                The sight before him was not what he expected, Derek wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt rather than his usual running attire. Which Stiles was intimately familiar with since it only consisted of a threadbare tank top and loose shorts. He suspected that his brain might actually hemorrhage if he ever witnessed Derek running in those clothes.

                And while the wolf still looked pretty tantalizing right now, his current outfit was not appropriate for skipping around the woods.   

                “I didn’t go yet.”

                “Where did you go?” Stiles’ brows furrowed, and he snaked his arms around Derek’s neck when the wolf approached him. It was natural and almost subconscious for Stiles to twirl his fingers through the hair at Derek’s nape, the wolf humming and nosing at his neck. 

                Derek adjusted Stiles in his arms, fitting the teen easily against his own body. “I have a surprise for you.” The were paused and finished slowly, considering his words. “And I didn’t tell you beforehand because, in all honesty, it’s for me, too.”

                Stiles leaned back, holding Derek’s eyes. “What is it?” He didn’t really know what to think. Derek’s surprises in the past had always been perfect and thoughtful, but the teen was absolutely clueless this time about what Derek could have done. It made him just the slightest bit nervous.

                The wolf unlinked Stiles’ arms from his neck, kissing one palm before backing a few inches away from the human. He reached down to the cuff of his sleeve—“Derek, _no_ ”— and pushed the fabric up to his elbow—“Tell me you didn’t”—revealing a gauze bandage on his wrist. The left wrist.

                Stiles felt his eyes widen automatically, his heart palpitate viciously behind his ribcage. He had covered his mouth with both hands in hopeless shock, wanting to scream for Derek to stop.

                The wolf was pulling at the edges of the tape securing the gauze, and Stiles felt like time was going too fast. He needed everything to slow down so that he could process the enormity of Derek’s actions, but he couldn’t say a word. He had stopped breathing several seconds ago, and his lungs felt close to bursting. Moreover, Stiles was helpless to move or look away, watching Derek peel back the bandage with an incomparable fascination.

                The gauze was rusty with dried blood, the skin underneath already completely healed but still a little dirty and smudged.

                Still, it was perfectly clear what the letters spelled, the font and slant of the writing matching Stiles’ tattoo.

                Derek tossed the bandage into the trash and turned back to Stiles, his hands ghosting near the boy’s elbows, not quite touching. A deep earnestness filled Derek’s eyes, begging for a response.

                “Are you angry?”

                Stiles’ mouth cracked open, and a jagged breath escaped. He lifted Derek’s left forearm and pulled the hand under the tap, watching the flakes of blood wash away to reveal the pristine skin underneath. With a paper towel, he blotted gently over the tattoo, in case the underlying tissue was still tender.

                Examining the tattoo objectively, on someone else, Stiles could admit that the script was neat and elegant in its own fashion. Unlike his own, Derek’s tattoo filled the entirety of his wrist. Stiles’ last name contained a fair number of letters more than Derek’s. He trailed his fingertips feather-light over the ink and felt the subtle rise of the outlines.

                The wolf pulled him out of his transfixion with a soft, prompting “Stiles?”

                “I can’t believe you did that,” the human breathed, his mouth still gaping in astonishment.

                “It might seem like an obnoxious gesture, but I belong to you as much as you belong to me.” Stiles was already wrangling Derek into a clumsy, frantic embrace, but the wolf seemed determined to finish his sentiment. “I fundamentally believe that we are equals,” Derek murmured against Stiles’ mouth, “and I’m proud to wear your name.” Stiles finally silenced his boyfriend, slipping his tongue into their kiss.    

                The human licked over his tingling lips, scratching through Derek’s stubble, and whispered, “I love you.”

                Derek’s eyes were facing downward, hidden behind the thick fan of his eyelashes. A sweet, little smile was quirking his lips while he thumbed over Stiles’ cheekbones. “Come with me on my run?”  

                “There’s going to be tree roots and holes and wet leaves. That’s a recipe for disaster for me.”

                Derek’s smile deepened. “I’m using the word ‘run’ loosely. We could just take a walk, get out of here for a little bit.”   

                “Okay.” Stiles grinned. He felt oddly flushed and flattered about Derek including him in one of his private rituals. “I need to shower, and then we can go?”

                The wolf nodded and pecked his temple. “Go ahead, baby. I’ll finish cooking breakfast.”  

* * *

                 The drive to the preserve only took five minutes. Stiles suspected that Derek normally ran to it from the apartment building and had taken the car this time for Stiles’ benefit alone.  

                The teen spent the majority of the ride staring at Derek’s wrist with lingering disbelief. Gripping the steering wheel made the tendons in Derek’s wrist cord, distorting the tattoo in a way that hypnotized Stiles. Every time he turned his head to look out the passenger-side window, a small part of him believed the tattoo would vanish before he glanced back.   

                What was even more unexpected was the perspective the whole situation had given him. No, he hadn’t wanted Derek’s surname stabbed into his skin a million times, but he was fortunate enough to wear his lover’s name, not some random oppressor’s mark who abused him. Stiles imagined that he was part of a sparse minority of Assistants who weren’t ashamed of their identification tattoos, who didn’t regard them as a daily reminder of past traumas and bad memories. Even Scott rubbed self-consciously at his own from time to time, and he and Deucalion had been on relatively good terms.   

                Now, when Stiles peered down at the _Hale_ inscribed on his wrist, he felt like he and Derek were sharing a secret. He enjoyed the quiet, innocuous rebellion associated with the mutuality of their tattoos. Yes, he liked the idea of that quite a bit. It was also going to be hilarious the first time some asshole Supernatural mistook Derek for an Assistant.  

                The were took his hand at the edge of the tree line, and they loped through the understory and fallen trees and across infiltrating streams. Derek looked more comfortable here than Stiles had ever seen him in town, and having lived in Beacon Hills his entire life, he had probably memorized every square inch of the preserve. It was a little breathtaking to see him so serene and content.

                On the other hand, Stiles never had much time to enjoy nature. He was always working in the urban sectors, with concrete and wood and steel and stone. The human had been trained to manipulate and remake nature with machines and man-made tools.  

                This was a nice change, and Stiles found his own sense of peace in the deceptive simplicity of the woods around him. The air was fresh, smelling like mud and flowers and vegetation. Birds chirped high above in the trees, unseen, and the scurry of small animals rustled dead leaves occasionally. Stiles’ random, punctuated yelps whenever he tripped over a variety of obstacles were a little less charming, but he had warned Derek about that from the start, so it was all out of his hands.   

                “There aren’t any trails,” Stiles noted, looking around the untamed undergrowth surrounding them. Nothing had been trimmed or sawed or pruned, seemingly untouched by humans and Supernaturals alike. He could understand the appeal for Derek.   

                “That’s why I run here. Most people go to the park on the other side of town. They have paved trails there.”

                “You probably know these woods pretty well, huh?” The boy had attempted to keep his voice casual, but Derek had yanked them to a halt, one of his emotive eyebrows raised.

                “What?” Stiles exclaimed, blushing at his own transparency.

                “You’re thinking. Which is always terrifying,” Derek sighed, crossing his arms. “Just ask me.”

                The teen pouted, pushing out his full, pink bottom lip. Derek’s eyes flicked to his mouth before blinking several times, and then the wolf steeled his features.                  

                 “I was thinking we could play a game,” Stiles hinted, biting that same lip.

                “I don’t like games,” Derek replied stiffly.

                “Okay, then what about a wager?”         

                Derek did possess a sense of self-preservation, so he relented. However, true to form, he made sure not to add even a tinge of enthusiasm to his expression. “What are the terms?”

                “If you find me in under ten minutes, you win. If you don’t, I win.”

                Derek’s judgmental eyebrow rose impossibly higher on his forehead. “You want to play hide-and-go-seek in the middle of the woods?”

                “I was thinking more along the lines of tag, but, you know, technicalities.” Stiles waved off Derek’s flat glare and continued. “I do get a minute head start though, for the sake of fairness.”          

                “God, you’re corruptive,” Derek exhaled.

                Stiles grinned in victory. “Oh hush. I know you want to chase me.” The wolf’s ears burned rosy pink, and Stiles soothed his boyfriend’s ego with a chaste kiss.

                “Close your eyes,” the human ordered, backing away. “And I want to hear you counting out loud. No cheating. We are operating on the honor system.”

                Derek huffed and grumbled about “immaturity” but started calling out numbers nonetheless. At “one,” Stiles shot off deeper into the woods, trying to maintain the precarious balance between speed, and well, balance. He did not want to concuss himself and then ruin the opportunity for more games like this in the future. It was by far the kinkiest thing he had ever participated in, and he was pretty proud of himself for convincing Derek to play along.

                Stiles’ choice of victory prize was obvious to the both of them, but he was hoping that the premise of the game itself would bring Derek over to his way of thinking. The teen had every intention of losing and being caught and tackled down into the dirt, all in the name of persuading Derek…and if Derek’s inner wolf inadvertently got a little riled up throughout the proceedings, then Stiles would fully embrace the consequences. He was a good sport like that.  

                Despite being horribly out of shape (never really having been _in_ shape in the first place), Stiles enjoyed the actual running more than he thought he would. Maybe next time, he really could come here to run with Derek. Something about the lactic acid burn of his muscles and the deep, pulling breaths felt satisfying, exhilarating. Too soon, the stitch in his side sharpened, and Stiles paused to rest, unzipping his hoodie and hanging it off of a nearby tree branch.

                Stiles was unashamed that he had actively planned their current circumstances. Not everything could be spontaneously sexy or romantic like in the movies. Some things required effort and forethought, and Stiles was passionate if nothing else. There was definitely a reason he had worn three layers and his most comfortable tennis shoes here.

                He tore through the woods for what felt like a few more minutes before the stitch flared again near the bottom of his ribcage. He mimicked his earlier actions, unbuttoning his flannel in a frenzy to toss it on a low-hanging branch, sucking in a few deeper breaths before he set off again.

                He wasn’t actually keeping track of the time, so he ran until his legs felt wobbly and gelatinous. Then, the human unceremoniously dropped onto a soft-looking patch of greenery and waited for Derek.

                The canopy cover wasn’t that dense, so sunlight was spilling through the foliage onto the ground, warming Stiles’ right leg. He closed his eyes and endured the tangible pulse of his heartbeat, listening to the tranquil sounds of the nature around him.

                No more than fifteen seconds later, Derek stepped onto a patch of dead leaves, and Stiles’ eyes shot open. The boy grinned and rose onto his elbows. “What took you so long?”

                His hoodie and flannel hung over one of Derek’s shoulders. “I caught up to you two minutes in. I’ve been following you, waiting for you to tire yourself out.” Derek’s responding grin was full of fangs, an animal glint present in his flashing eyes.

                Stiles chuckled. “And this pathetic excuse for a chase still got you going?”

                Derek gave a noncommittal shrug, unwilling to defend his choice of turn-ons, and stalked closer towards him.

                “I won,” the wolf stated simply, his eyes glowing a steady blue. He knelt down next to Stiles, dumping the teen’s discarded clothes next to them.

                “Well, a deal’s a deal. Winner’s choice.”

                Derek popped the button on Stiles’ jeans, and the human’s stomach lurched in excitement. “ _Yes._ Okay, this is happening. Oh god. Yes, please.” He toed his shoes off, flinging them somewhere nearby. 

                The beta rolled his eyes fondly, which was a little trippy to watch considering they still looked like neon light bulbs. Stiles’ jeans and underwear were tossed onto the pile with his other clothes, and the ground was startlingly cold against his naked half.

                Stiles nudged Derek onto his back, pushing the wolf’s sweatpants down just enough to free his cock. No underwear, of course.

                “Jesus, Derek. Give me a chance,” the human mumbled, settling down on Derek’s thighs. The skin-to-skin contact made his own dick throb.  

                He leaned forward, one hand braced against the cool earth and took half of Derek’s cock into his mouth. The wolf groaned above him, jostling his hips a little from the abrupt stimulation.

                Stiles could feel the precome already oozing from the head of his dick. In a moment of self-discovery, he realized that he liked everything about outdoor sex. He liked the atmosphere and the strange sort of privacy the preserve offered, shrouded by trees, their noises blending in with the sounds of the animals. He savored the thought that their fuck would be a little messy with dirt and grass stains, how both of them were half-clothed and rumpled.

                It was intoxicating to feel Derek’s cock fill up while it rested inside his mouth. He eased the foreskin down to suckle at the cockhead, pressing his tongue against its underside until Derek grunted. Stiles was overcome with a sudden desire to keep everything wet and filthy, so he let a flood of saliva roll down his chin and the length of Derek’s dick. He swallowed Derek as deeply as he could, keeping him warm and hard, hearing the wolf swear and crunch dried litter debris in his fists.

                The nails that subsequently brushed through Stiles’ hair were sharper than normal, and the boy shuddered. When Stiles pulled off, letting Derek’s cock slap against his belly, he could see the wolf breathing heavily. Derek squeezed the meat of Stiles’ thighs with urgency until the teen clambered up his body to smash their lips together.  

                The position made their cocks brush, and Stiles canted his hips downward to rub their erections together, whining softly into Derek’s mouth. It was so tempting to just grind together until they both came, but Stiles had plans, damnit.

                Derek’s hands were large and warm on his hips, cupping the crests of his pelvic bone. The grip tightened disapprovingly when he realized what the teen intended.

                “Wait, wait, you’re going to hurt yourself,” he begged. The human was kneeling over the wolf’s waist, holding Derek’s cock in his hand. He shuffled himself minimally until he was hovering over it, lined up and ready.   

                “No.” Stiles shook his head and smiled wickedly. “I fingered myself in the shower and stuffed about half a bottle of lube inside of me afterwards. I’m good to go.”

                Stiles spread his knees farther so that the tip of Derek’s dick pressed against his rim. He teased himself at first, because he liked to and because it always made Derek a little wild. He allowed the head to just pop inside before lifting off, doing it a few times until the were growled. Then the boy dropped down all at once onto Derek’s cock until he found himself seated in the wolf’s lap.

                It never ceased to knock the breath out of Stiles, to make him whimper as he squeezed his eyes closed tightly. The best kind of overwhelming. He had prepared himself carefully earlier for this very reason, and now there was nothing but a smooth stretch and the deep ache of arousal in his gut.

                “Surprise,” Stiles half-laughed, half-gasped. He clenched around Derek to fully appreciate the bulk of Derek’s cock and maybe to make the wolf underneath him squirm a little.  

                Derek was caressing his hips and his thighs and his sides, seemingly every area of skin he could reach. Somewhere in the middle of sinking down onto Derek’s cock, the wolf had changed beneath him. Stiles always took it as a compliment whenever Derek shifted at all during sex.

                The more superficial signs of the shift were evident. The claws and fangs and eyes. Derek was never fussy about those features, probably because they weren’t _that_ far from their human-like counterparts.

                This time, Derek had also shifted completely into his beta form, his ears lengthening to a point, hair growing, his nose and forehead reconstructing themselves. The wolf rarely let himself remain in this stage of his shift, especially during moments of intimacy. It had only happened a handful of times, and he still wasn’t comfortable enough to occupy it every full moon. It was usually a full-wolf shift or nothing.  

                “That’s it, Der. Don’t fight it. Let me look at you.” Stiles had been immobile for too long, and he was growing hot and antsy. He planted his hands on Derek’s clothed chest for support and used them along with his knees to give himself enough leverage to lift himself up from Derek’s lap. He slid back down, hearing the slick sound of the lube between them, the subtle slap of their colliding skin.  

                Stiles loved riding Derek because gravity did most of the work. With a little bit of effort, he could fuck himself as hard as he wanted, could get Derek inside of him the deepest. The teen usually reserved this position for when he was feeling particularly insatiable.   

                Arching his back, widening his knees, Stiles lowered himself a little more, the next thrust jabbing him inside right where he wanted. Stiles moaned and tensed his body to maintain his posture, bouncing up and down with abandon to hit his prostate as many times as he could.

                Derek’s eyes had rolled backwards, and he was petting over Stiles’ straining thighs while the boy continued to lift and drop his body, roll his hips. It worked out well because Derek was too hesitant to squeeze or manhandle with his claws, so he let Stiles take the lead and control the pace.  

                “Der, touch me. Please.”

                The wolf looked flustered, his expression hazy and pinched. “I can’t, baby. I can’t right now. Stop moving and maybe I can—”

                Stiles dropped himself particularly hard onto Derek’s cock, feeling the sensation work its way up his spinal column, and they both nearly wailed. Derek’s knot was starting to swell, tugging at his hole with every successive thrust. Distantly, the teen noted that Derek had snarled.

                “You can. I trust you so much,” Stiles panted. “Please, you can.”

                Derek circled his leaking cock in a careful grip, keeping the tips of his claws straight outward so that they pointed away from the boy’s flesh. Stiles was fucking himself furiously, mewling from the combination of Derek jerking him off and the sharp bursts of pressure against his prostate.  

                He writhed through his orgasm, fisting handfuls of Derek’s t-shirt, slamming his ass downwards until he felt the knot work its way inside. A few more jerky movements of his hips, and he was oversensitive, stilling Derek’s hand that was on his cock.

                Now that the all-consuming need to come had passed, Stiles felt his head clear marginally. He gyrated his hips, working himself around Derek’s knot with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.  

                Even past orgasm, Derek still felt sinfully good inside of him. It was just more intense now, and Stiles swore that he could feel every inch of Derek crammed inside of him, filling him so relentlessly. The first few times Derek tapped his prostate, Stiles shuddered through an exquisite pleasure-pain, whining uncontrollably as his rim convulsed around Derek’s knot.      

                Stiles’ one hand had pushed itself underneath Derek’s shirt, feeling the muscles contract in the wolf’s abdomen. Derek’s hips were moving in tight, unfulfilled rotations, and when his body froze and his mouth parted, Stiles knew he was coming.  

                Content, the human slumped forward, recognizing the sticky wetness underneath his forearms as his own come.  

                “Sorry. We should’ve taken your shirt off.”

                Derek was fully human again, his urges sated and his wolf tucked back underneath the surface. He was still recovering from his orgasm, his eyes hooded, and his breathing slightly faster than usual.  

                “Don’t apologize. Fuck, Stiles. I love when you get like that.”

                The boy blushed and dropped his forehead onto Derek’s chest. The angle of his body wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it took some of the pressure off of his ankles, and he was tired.

                Derek stroked through his hair with obvious affection. “Do you want to try to move or just wait it out?”

                “I’m okay,” Stiles mumbled with his cheek pressed against one of Derek’s pectorals. Even with his protesting joints, the boy felt virtually boneless. How did he possibly run earlier? He wasn’t sure if he would ever be motivated to move again.

                Derek released a pleased rumble that vibrated against the side of Stiles’ face, making him smile. Then a thought rattled off the side of his skull. “We didn’t use a condom. Your come is going to completely soak my underwear. Walking is going to be a nightmare and sitting in your car will just be plain torture.”

                “Don’t worry,” the wolf soothed. “When my knot deflates, I’ll lay you down and eat you out until you’re all clean again.”

                Stiles made a small, pleading noise against his boyfriend’s chest, and Derek chuckled.

                Thankfully, Derek’s knot never lasted longer than about fifteen or twenty minutes. The first thing Stiles did was stand and stretch, cracking a few joints.

                Derek took off his soiled shirt and spread out the rest of Stiles’ clothes as a makeshift blanket to keep the chill off of the boy’s skin. Fulfilling his promise, the wolf arranged him on his back, with his knees bent and his feet planted, and licked into him for endless minutes. Naturally, Stiles had gotten hard all over again, so Derek sucked him off through a second orgasm.

                With the most tempting flutter of his eyelashes, Stiles convinced Derek to give him ten minutes before they started their walk back to the car.

                The front of Derek’s shirt was spackled with Stiles’ come and the back with damp mud splotches, so the wolf slung it over his shoulder and went shirtless.

                He brushed off Stiles’ back once the boy was dressed and picked a few pieces of dead leaves out of Stiles’ messy hair. Derek had given him this glorious smile of endearment afterwards.

                The teen was reluctant to break the comfortable silence as Derek led them back towards the perimeter of the woods. In fact, the only reason Stiles had allowed silence in the first place was to internally debate whether now was the right time to have a certain discussion.  

                Ultimately, he reasoned that they might as well get all of the big gestures out of the way today. What was one more, really?   

                “I’ve been thinking about Scott a lot lately,” Stiles announced randomly as they crunched through the preserve.

                Derek shot him a sideways glance. From prior experience, the wolf knew it was much easier to just go along with Stiles’ rambles because the boy always reached his point eventually. Much sooner than when Derek would interrupt him to try and orient himself in whatever chaotic conversation Stiles had started.

                He deferred his confusion for now and asked, “What about Scott?”

                “When I first met him, he was sort of an enigma to me.”

                Derek snorted. “Scott is the most forthcoming and honest person on the planet. I wouldn’t exactly call him mysterious.”

                Stiles swatted at Derek good-naturedly, which proved to be difficult since their fingers were still linked and Derek was unwilling to hit himself.

                “Not his personality. Just _him._ He had a foot in both worlds, which I never thought was possible. He was the first Supernatural I knew that had been a human. Aside from him—and now you,” Stiles quirked a smile in Derek’s direction, “I had never seen a Supernatural with an identification tattoo either. It shattered a lot of my preconceptions, but I still didn’t take it that seriously at the time. I think I was still rooted too deeply in Industry life, accustomed to that way of living.”

                “And now?” Derek’s voice was light and sincere, but his expression had become more thoughtful.    

                Stiles chewed on his bottom lip, gathering his confidence. “Now it doesn’t seem so crazy. The rules don’t seem so rigid anymore.”

                “Stiles?” Derek squeezed his hand and pulled them to a stop.

                “You know what I’m getting at, Der.”

                “I do,” the wolf agreed softly. “Say it anyway.”

                “I want the bite.” The human took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Derek was right. Declaring the words made the whole scenario feel more concrete and plausible, albeit more nerve-wracking as well. “What do you think?”

                “This is your decision, Stiles.”

                “I know that you’ll support me either way,” Derek had nodded in confirmation, giving his hand another squeeze, “but I want your opinion. It’s important to me.”

                Derek expelled a slow breath, respecting the gravity of the discussion, and rubbed his forehead. “I think you’d be safer…which I can’t pretend I’m not thinking about. Just being a human paints a target on your back, and on top of that, you’re curious and intelligent and beautiful. People notice.” The tone of Derek’s voice implied that those traits were more dangerous than impressive, and Stiles couldn’t help but agree. Basic rule of thumb: humans did not want to attract attention to themselves.

                Derek’s face had darkened with troubling memories, and Stiles gave his a wolf a wistful smile to sympathize. In the last several months, Stiles had received the attention of far too many strange Supernaturals, and most of those meetings had ended badly.  

                “Okay, now the downside. You’re my sounding board, so don’t be gentle.”   

                “Well, it’ll be a transition, obviously…You might feel like you’re leaving some part of yourself behind. You’ll still be the same person, but you’ll have to contend with warring instincts, heightened senses, new physical attributes. That will take time.”

                Clearly. Stiles’ arrival at the loft had sent Derek’s wolf through a loop, and he had had to recalibrate his instincts and impulses all over again during full moons. And Derek was a _born_ wolf.  

                “But you would…” Stiles’ mouth wobbled self-consciously for a few seconds, embarrassed to even say the words. “You and Scott could help me learn. If you wanted to. I know it would be a burden.” Until now, Stiles hadn’t considered that Derek might not want to deal with housetraining a baby werewolf. Was he asking too much, being too selfish?

                Stiles knew he was exuding all sorts of noxious, worried chemosignals because Derek cradled his face in his hands and bumped their foreheads together like the boy was talking nonsense. “Of course I’ll help you through it. I’ll be there the whole time. If you decide to stay, I’ll—”

                “ _If_ I stay? Where else would I go?” Stiles felt a small pang of indignation at Derek’s suggestion and pulled out of the wolf’s hold. He started pacing.  

                “Anywhere you wanted, baby. That’s the whole point. You were born in Beacon Hills, and your father couldn’t leave, so you stayed here while you grew up. And when I took you home with me, you still had no choice. Fortunately, we came to care about each other, but that doesn’t mean you _want_ to be here. You just haven’t had any other options until now.”

                “That’s _not—_ ” Stiles huffed and seethed but couldn’t even finish his outburst because Derek was being so damn sensible. And truthful. Stiles had asked for the tough love, and he had gotten it. It wasn’t fair to be pissy with Derek for doing exactly what he wanted, for saying what _needed_ to be said. The boy walked a few more circles, leaves crackling under his shoes.

                “I don’t want you to leave, Stiles. I don’t want us to be apart.” Derek’s face was scrunched in pain, and he crossed his arms tightly over his chest. Pacing was not Derek’s style. “And I’m not trying to tell you how you feel or to invalidate your feelings. But I don’t want to trap you here either. You’ve been moved from one cage to another your entire life. I won’t do that to you again.”  

                Stiles grunted and stomped right into Derek’s personal space, to the point where the wolf had to tip his head back so that Stiles didn’t smash their faces together.

                “I want to stay here with you and the pack. I don’t care about traveling or having an adventurous life. I’ve had enough excitement already, and I’m not even twenty years old. Furthermore,” Stiles ranted, his voice rising beyond his control, “I wouldn’t leave you behind even if I did want that, you ass.”

                 Derek laughed quietly and plucked Stiles forward by the front of his hoodie, slotting their mouths together until the boy’s desperation fizzled into small, happy noises.

                “I love you, too,” Derek assured. “How about we make one life-altering decision at a time and go from there?” 

                “Deal.” Stiles sighed and intertwined their fingers once again, urging Derek to start walking. “Ugh, I need to talk to Scott. And my dad. He gives me this pleading look every time I tell him we need to talk now. I think he’s still worried that you can somehow impregnate me.”

                They stopped a few minutes later because Stiles dramatically announced that he was experiencing the beginning effects of dehydration and heat exhaustion. In reality, his gait was a little looser after taking a knot, and he was kinda sore. But taking anything fist-sized up the ass was bound to leave a guy a little tender. The wolf rolled his eyes at the teen’s poor attempt to be theatrical and carried Stiles piggyback until they reached the car.

                Stiles had giggled and laid his cheek against the wolf’s nape. “What are you going to do when I’m not all squishy and fragile? You’ll have so much free time.”

                “Somehow I doubt that. Werewolf or human, I’ll still be living with a hyperactive teenager.”

                The boy had squawked in offense and flicked his boyfriend on the ear.


	24. Chapter 24

                Stiles thought it was best to talk to Scott and his father before dinner, and coincidentally, before the rest of the pack arrived. Hopefully, it would go well, or the table conversation was going to be awkward as hell.

                It would be so much easier if Stiles could just sit down with the entire pack and explain this one time. But that was unfair to Scott, who would be doing him a colossal favor if he agreed, and to his father, who was prehypertensive. He owed his dad this courtesy, considering everything the parent had been forced to digest over the last several months. Moreover, if Scott wasn’t willing to bite him, there would be no point in holding a pack meeting afterwards to announce it.  

                Stiles had mentioned that same possibility to Derek, shortly after they first discussed the issue in the preserve. While the teen preferred Scott for his Alpha, he still thought that becoming a werewolf was the best move for him in the long term. To which Derek commented that some of Deucalion’s old pack members—a pair of Alpha twins—were based in Washington with their new pack, and that he could call them in on a favor as an alternative. Something about collecting a debt from the last time the two brothers had visited Beacon Hills.  

                They hadn’t really thought any farther than plan B, and Derek and Stiles were hoping they wouldn’t have to. A werewolf was probably the safest sort of Supernatural for Stiles to become, aside from the most convenient since they had their own true Alpha just hanging around. A lot of other transformations required death and/or resurrection, which sounded unpleasant and a lot riskier. Not to mention Stiles would have firsthand knowledge and experience from two of his own wolfy pack members.

                So, yeah, they were really just hoping that Scott would agree.

                John was sitting on the loveseat in Melissa’s living room, sporting the exact face that Stiles predicted he would. It was both supplicating and frustrated at the same time, and his eyes were beginning to squint with displeasure.

                “It’s okay, kiddo,” his father assured, even though his smile looked pained. “Just tell me you’re not in danger.”

                “No, I’m fine. But that’s what I want to talk to you about. And Scott.”

                The Alpha raised his eyebrows, surprised that he was being directly addressed for this conversation.

                “I…” Stiles faltered. This should have been easier the second time around, but butterflies were flapping inside of his stomach. Derek’s thumb moved against his nape, his arm stretched along the back of the couch. They kept a little bit of distance for John’s sake, but the wolf could just reach him without drawing attention. It was just what Stiles needed.

                He sighed, closed his eyes, and started again. “I’ve been thinking—no, I’ve decided—that I want the bite…I want to become a werewolf.”

                Stiles watched Scott and his father with trepidation, jiggling his leg. Scott’s dark eyes had gone wide, but his face remained open and kind. His dad still seemed to be processing his words based on the way his jaw had dropped and his forehead had scrunched.  

                “I know it’s a big announcement to drop on you like this, but you both are kinda vital to what happens next.”

                “Would…Derek…be the one to…bite you?” In typical Stilinski fashion, John had wiggled his fingers next to the side of his neck in some vague gesture.

                The wolf in question explained, “Only Alphas can turn humans. I’m just a beta. That’s w—”

                “Where I come in,” Scott finished.

                His father sighed and rubbed a hand down his weathered face. “You’ve really thought this through? This is what you want?”

                “It is, dad,” Stiles replied softly.

                Scott chimed in from the armchair next to the couch. “As long as you and your dad agree, then I’ll do it. Of course I’ll do it, man.”

                Stiles’ smile was a little tearful, but he nodded his thanks towards his friend. “It’s not just because you’re the only Alpha in the pack, Scott. You’re the brother I never had, and I want _you_ as my Alpha.”  

                “I love you, too, dude. I’m honored.” Reciprocal tears sparkled in those puppy-dog eyes, and Scott summoned one of his warm and comforting smiles that no one else could quite replicate.

                “Okay, okay,” John breathed, digging his thumbs into his forehead to massage away the tenseness and the stress. Subsequently, Melissa clasped one of his hands between her own. “What are the risks? How exactly do you ‘turn’ him?”

                Scott looked to Derek, and the beta nodded for him to take the floor on this one. Scott would be the one administering the bite; it was better if the information came from him.

                “Just like it sounds, I’ll have to bite him. Deep enough to puncture the skin so that my fangs can mix with his blood. The Alpha who bit me explained the whole process when he gave me my bite, so it’s just a matter of putting instruction into practice.”

                “I trust you, son,” John stated, sending Scott a reassuring nod. “I know you’ll make it as easy and as painless for my boy as you can.”

                “The risks, honey. Everything should be out in the open.” Melissa spoke to Scott, her expression conveying some wordless mother-son signal between the two of them, and the Alpha nodded.

                It only struck Stiles at that moment that although Scott had been turned without his mother’s knowing, they had still been through this already. For the millionth time, Stiles privately acknowledged how grateful he was to be surrounded by these people. How lucky he was to have found them.  

                Relief washed over Stiles knowing that Melissa and Scott were at least slightly experienced in the matter, and he hoped the same thought could comfort his father somewhat.

                “It’s not common, but there’s a small chance that if the bite doesn’t turn him, it will…kill him.” Scott paused momentarily, blinking in quick succession, before he spoke again. “If it takes, he’ll notice signs of the change after a few hours, and the bite should completely heal within a day.”  

                Stiles was monitoring his dad’s expression, letting a tendril of doubt creep through his mind. He took a deep, calming breath and reminded himself that if everything went according to plan, his father would never have to worry about his son’s health again.

                Derek had already mentioned that the bite could be fatal, so Stiles wasn’t shocked when Scott admitted it. His boyfriend had feigned composure when he first told Stiles several days ago, but it had been easy to see through the façade. His expression had been very similar to the one his father was wearing now. John had stiffened and clutched back at Melissa’s hands with both of his own.

                The Med was even-voiced and logical when she broke the silence, which didn’t surprise Stiles. She witnessed bloodshed and trauma and death every day and would still come home and laugh at his father’s terrible jokes and tease her son. Melissa was a force of nature, probably a major reason Scott was so similarly incorruptible and good-hearted.

                “Stiles is young and healthy and resilient. In medicine, that counts for more than you think. He has the best chance of anyone trying to survive the bite. I’ll be there with Scott while he transitions, so I can keep an eye on him.”

                “Thank you,” Stiles told Melissa. Not just for his sake, but for his father’s, too.

                There was one nagging detail left, and if the teen didn’t mention it now, he didn’t think he would at all.

                “What about you, dad?” John’s brow furrowed, and the teen added, “Do you want to join the horde of the supernatural with me?”

                Stiles shot Scott an apologetic glance for potentially committing him without his consent, but he knew that if the Alpha agreed to turn him, he would do it for his father, too.

                His dad had been fighting tooth and nail to keep Stiles healthy and safe for eighteen years. He would sacrifice himself in any way that felt necessary to protect his son. That kind of selflessness didn’t lead to self-indulgence. If Stiles didn’t ask for him, his father never would. And it wouldn’t be out of some misguided sense of pride, but due to the simple fact that John would never consider requesting such an extravagance for himself.

                Stiles could step up this time and take care of his old man. After all, they wanted the same things for one another. A long life, with as much happiness as the other could siphon out of it, and opportunities.  

                John actually laughed. “I’m too old to start over, kiddo. Besides, I’m pretty pleased with what I have now.” Melissa patted John’s thigh with subtlety, but both sons’ senses were too finely attuned to torturing their parents. Scott and Stiles felt like their eyes had been drawn to one another’s magnetically, and if the previous moments hadn’t been so emotional, they would have started catcalling for sure. Some things would never change. 

                “So, we’re really doing this.” A faint incredulity tinged his father’s tone, almost making it sound like a question. “When?”

                Stiles flicked his eyes towards Derek who offered no direction and then to Scott. “It’s up to you, buddy. You’re the star of the show.”

                “Two weeks,” the Alpha offered. “We can figure out the details of when and where and get organized. Give everybody some time for it to sink in.”

                Everyone else nodded, and they all filtered into the kitchen to start making dinner. The rest of the pack would be over in half an hour.

* * *

                Pack dinners were special because everyone was there. The whole family. Even Stiles could admit that having Melissa and John make googly eyes at one another on Derek’s couch during pack nights would be traumatizing and weird. Pack dinners were the nice alternative that pulled everyone together.

                There were eight of them but only four chairs to the McCall’s kitchen table. In preparation for a pack dinner, someone would pull the two spare chairs out of the basement that belonged to another unknown table, along with the desk chair out of Scott’s bedroom and the stool that was always stashed in the foyer by the coat rack.

                As a result, the table always looked a little mismatched and hodgepodge, but so was the pack, and Stiles thought it suited their unconventional group.

                Malia liked to cook, so she always came a little early to help John finish in the kitchen. Then the rest of the pack would arrive, and a mild chaos would occupy the McCall house.

                Anybody with free hands was filling drinks and grabbing chairs and pulling plateware from cabinets. It was always a minor commotion of talking over one another and laughing. At any time, multiple people were trying to get the same person’s attention as they slid past one another and ducked under outstretched arms to grab whatever they needed from whatever cupboard or drawer.

                Stiles had no idea how someone didn’t get injured with that many people bustling through a moderately-sized kitchen, but it worked. Somehow everything got done, and they all converged on the table at the same time carrying something that had just finished cooking. There was an inexplicable charm in their disorder, an unplanned fluidity in their intersecting motions. Stiles had never felt anything like it before, but he knew it was precious.

                 After the meal, they piled back into the living room, the kitchen mostly returned to its original state, and dropped onto furniture with full stomachs. It was a lot easier than at Derek’s because Melissa actually invested in furniture.

                “So what’s going on?” Malia asked. “You all smell anxious.” She dragged her finger accusingly from the Stilinskis to Derek and Scott. Melissa was a brick wall, as cool as a cucumber, and several other idioms that Stiles couldn’t quite conjure at the moment. He didn’t know if he should be afraid or impressed that she could control her body so masterfully around Supernaturals.

                “I’m calling for a pack vote, or weigh-in, or something. It’ll affect everyone, and I want your input.” All heads had turned towards him, either politely listening or curious for answers.

                “Input about what?” Lydia questioned.

                It was getting more anticlimactic every time Stiles had to say it. “I asked Scott for the bite, and he agreed.”

                Kira was the first to speak up, the surprise evident on her face as she switched her gaze between Scott and Stiles.

                “Human, werewolf, it doesn’t matter. You’re still Stiles to me.” She smiled gently at Stiles before turning to whisper something in Scott’s ear. Judging by the blush and bashful grin on the Alpha’s face, it was some sort of congratulations on his first soon-to-be pup.

                No one else noticed the exchange, but Stiles promised to do something special and celebratory for Scott if this all worked out and he didn’t die. Turning Stiles would be just as significant of an experience for Scott as it would be for him. The Alpha making his first beta.

                Scott would be his supernatural father of sorts, the one to metaphorically give birth to Stiles’ wolf. _Maybe that would make him my supernatural mother_ , he mused to himself. The teen recognized how weirdly he was interpreting the situation, but he could hardly control the words that came out of his mouth let alone the thoughts that stumbled around his head. Stiles’ inner wolf cub would scamper after Scott for guidance; it was just something he had accepted.

                Malia was sitting next to Stiles on the couch and tugged on the sleeve of his shirt excitedly. “I can give you my chains and cuffs for your full moons. Scott thinks that after another month or two I’ll have a good enough grasp on my shift to go without them.” The genuine enthusiasm on the coyote’s face made Stiles laugh, and she wrapped the teen into an awkwardly-positioned but well-meant hug.

                “I’ve read a few scientific articles—controversial but published—that say the inside of the wrist is the most convenient location for a turning bite. Highly vascularized and less painful than those on the neck or torso. That’s my recommendation, Scott.” Lydia quirked her glossy lips towards Stiles and gave him a wink.  

                “That sounds like a resounding ‘yes’ to me,” Scott stated.

                “We all just want what’s best for you. If this is something you need, then we’ll support you.” The banshee reached across Derek’s lap to squeeze Stiles’ hand.

                Stiles gulped, looking around at his pack. The perfect picture of home and safety and love. Melissa and John had—fittingly—sat on the loveseat with the nurse’s arm tucked around his dad’s shoulder. Kira and Scott had occupied one of the two armchairs with the kitsune spread sideways over her boyfriend’s lap. Stiles could feel intense body heat on both sides of him; a reminder that Malia was on his right, her arms curled around one of his, and Derek on his left, their thighs aligned and touching. Lydia still hadn’t released his hand, but Derek didn’t seem to mind the intrusion of his personal space from all sides.

                 “Since the first day I met all of you, you’ve treated me like a friend—well, Derek was a little snarly at first, but I think I grew on him.” His boyfriend bumped his shoulder, and Malia smothered her snicker into the fabric of Stiles' shirt. “And I’m just going to push on and try to make this the last heartfelt speech I give for a _long_ time because they always end with Scott crying and me embarrassing myself. So, thank you for everything, and I love you all.”  

                All Scott said was “ _bro_ ,” but he instilled so much feeling into it that Stiles got a little choked up himself. Kira raised her fine brows, just enough to insinuate that she wasn’t sure if Scott was more her boyfriend or Stiles’. _This happens_ every _time_ , the human mentally grumbled. 

                “Well, let’s get this over with,” his father stated gruffly, sending Stiles an amused glance. His expression quickly sobered again. “I won’t pretend I have no worries about Stiles being bitten, but I’ll sleep more easily knowing that he has a good group of people around him to help him through this. And that you’re all looking out for one another.”

                When his father stopped talking, there were sniffles coming from every corner of the room. Even Derek’s eyes were a little misty. Stiles looked around, flabbergasted, and Scott just shrugged his shoulders like he couldn’t be held responsible for the fact that John’s eloquence had skipped a generation.

                “I take it all back. You guys are the worst,” Stiles muttered.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't know if I would have finished writing this if I hadn't started posting it, so thanks for giving me that extra boost of motivation. I appreciate all of the comments, kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks, etc. that everyone has given, and you guys have been amazing! xoxo

                Stiles hadn’t been able to fall asleep yet. Derek was breathing softly behind him, his nose pressed into the back of Stiles’ hair and one arm tossed over the boy’s waist. Being the only one awake always made Stiles feel like he was the last person on the planet.  

                It was raining, and the droplets tapped off of the wall of windows and the skylights. Stiles liked the rhythm and the softness of it, but it didn’t lull him to sleep like it usually would.

                He was anxious for tomorrow, but if he hadn’t been, he would have doubted his own sanity.

                Derek had asked him what he wanted to do with his last day of humanity. Stiles opted for a quiet day, where he mostly hung around the loft with his wolf, went downstairs for an hour or two to fiddle with the small chest he was making. He fucked Derek that evening, slow and sweet, with light touches and soft kisses until they were both trembling for more. But Stiles remained gentle and unhurried because he needed it, and Derek knew that.

                Stiles was enjoying the splatter of the rain, the warmth of Derek at his back. Occasionally, the were would release a small moan or rumble and twitch behind him. He wondered if his wolf was dreaming.

                The human hadn’t expected to get any sleep tonight. Gingerly, he turned the arm that was hanging over his hip until the moonlight caught Derek’s tattoo. Stiles stroked the skin lightly with his thumb, pulled the arm tighter around his torso, and closed his eyes.

                He focused on the storm outside. Strained his ears for the distant sounds of thunder. Tomorrow he wouldn’t have to.

* * *

                At two-thirty, the pack spilled into the loft. It had been chosen as the rendezvous.

                The lack of adjoining walls between the bedroom and the living room offered more space than at Melissa’s house. More importantly, the apartment smelled like himself and Derek, and Stiles’ wolf would probably cling to that familiarity while it oriented itself.

                Stiles had been watching television restlessly all morning, unwilling to indulge his charade of sleeping once the sun rose.

                Derek found him shortly after six, wrapping his arms around the teen silently. Stiles sighed and melted against his boyfriend’s chest.

                “I’m nervous, too,” the wolf whispered into the crown of his head before placing a kiss on it.

                It had been a struggle, but Derek convinced him to choke down a fried egg and a piece of toast at breakfast. He rightfully had no expectations for lunch.

                In the shower, Derek massaged their body wash into Stiles’ trapezii and scrubbed his scalp until the human relaxed.

                It was the waiting that had been agony. The second Scott stepped into the loft, a sudden calmness pervaded Stiles’ body. He hadn’t changed his mind. He was ready.

                Derek brought out a small first-aid kit from the bathroom and handed it to Melissa. She would need to clean up the blood from the bite and keep it covered in case Stiles thrashed afterwards.

                Everyone still exchanged hugs and kisses and hellos. They all smiled at him, but Stiles could feel the heaviness in the air.

                When John pulled him into a hug, he held him for a long time.

                “They’re just unsure how to act without making you nervous,” his father murmured. “They know you’re going to be fine.”

                His dad pulled back until their eyes locked and didn’t break his stare until Stiles nodded in reply. The teen was dragged into another embrace before John released him.

                Melissa folded a towel in half and placed it across the couch cushion between Scott and Stiles. To catch any unmanageable blood drippage.

                The thought made Stiles a little queasy, and he elected _not_ to watch Scott take a chunk out of his arm.

                Malia, Lydia, and Kira had been chattering amongst themselves somewhat conspicuously before the coyote sat down next to Stiles.

                Always quick to the point, Malia leaned in and said, “The three of us feel totally weird about just sitting here and watching Scott bite you. We want to be here for you, but this is creepy and unhelpful.”

                Stiles chuckled. “Now that you mention it, I perform better with small audiences. Could you do me a favor?”

                Malia stiffened her brow and pouted her mouth into a serious expression, and she nodded. “Anything.”

                “Can you guys take my dad into kitchen? Maybe get him some coffee and just keep him occupied. Until it’s over.”

                “Sure.” The coyote left him with a parting grasp to his shoulder and then rejoined Lydia and Kira to whisper something out of earshot.

                The girls converged on John, looping their arms through his and gently urging him towards the kitchen.

                “I’ll come get you as soon as it’s done,” Melissa assured. John shot one last look at his son before disappearing into the kitchen with his fellow pack mates. They were only a room apart. It wasn’t as if his father couldn’t reach him again in the span of two seconds. That was probably the only reason John allowed himself to be escorted away in the first place.

                The four of them knew they couldn’t do anything to help; there wasn’t that much to do. Most of it was out of all of their hands, and Stiles could focus better on the present task knowing that they were looking after his dad. Derek, Scott, and Melissa had stayed because they each had a role.

                Melissa would check Stiles’ vitals after Scott delivered the bite and patch him up, and Derek…Derek wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else besides him anyway, so he sat on Stiles’ other side. The teen had designated him as emotional support.  

                Stiles had become rather attached to his tattoo due to recent events, and he felt encouraged to protect it. The bite was supposed to perfectly disappear when the skin healed, leaving behind no scars, but Stiles didn’t want to take the chance. He endured a lot of discomfort to get the damn thing stabbed into his skin, so he might as well preserve it. That meant Scott would be chomping down on his right wrist.

                Stiles slouched against the back of the couch, trying to get himself comfortable. Scott waited at his side patiently, wordlessly.

                “Ready?” Derek asked, intertwining their fingers.

                Stiles exhaled and nodded. “Don’t take my pain.”

                “Are you sure?” Stiles watched Derek’s eyes flicker with concern, and he noticed once again how they were pretty and clear like a freshwater stream.

                “It’s mine. I’ve earned it.”

                 Derek seemed to understand because he smiled softly. A moment later, Stiles leaned in for a kiss, the wolf meeting him halfway.  Stiles tried to memorize the softness of Derek’s lips and the scratchiness of his beard, how Derek’s fingers probed tenderly against his pulse where they rested on the side of his neck.

                _Just in case,_ his mind supplied.

                “See you on the other side, Der.” The human winked and sent him a mischievous smile. It made Stiles feel more like himself. They separated, but the wolf squeezed Stiles’ hand, a promise that he wasn’t going anywhere.

                “It’ll take ten seconds, honey. Be over before you know it,” Melissa stated, standing next to the coffee table where she had laid out a few basic medical supplies. Bandages and antiseptic and ointment.

                Scott shuffled in closer, turning sideways on the couch so that he was facing Stiles head-on.

                “Tell me when you’re ready.”

                “Whenever you are, Scotty.” The Alpha lifted Stiles’ forearm, twisted it slightly until it was supine. 

                Stiles inhaled, clutched Derek’s hand, and felt the breath punched out of him when Scott’s fangs sunk into his skin.

                The pressure was intense, and Stiles felt the strength in Scott’s jaws, the force behind the careful snap of his teeth. The pain flared hot and sharp, and Stiles gasped and clenched Derek’s hand so tightly he thought the wolf might actually feel it.

                Despite Stiles’ better judgment, his curiosity always getting the better of him, he turned to Scott. Whose eyes were glowing like lasers. The Alpha’s teeth were embedded in Stiles’ wrist, blood dripping sluggishly from their point of connection onto the towel beneath them.

                Before Stiles’ vision dissolved into blackness, he admitted that Melissa’s foresight was impeccable. That was a good amount of blood.

* * *

                Stiles’ consciousness stirred. His body wasn’t quite ready to follow. There was a scent filling his nose that he couldn’t ignore. Something fresh and wild, like he had been transplanted from the loft back into the preserve. He didn’t fully realize what he was sensing until he focused on the thudding rhythm nearby. A heartbeat.

                “Derek?” His voice was sandpaper-rough and thick. It was difficult to hear anything but the first and last consonants of the name, but a hand stroked through his hair in response. Stiles realized from the perceived abundance of space around him that he had been moved from the couch to Derek’s bed.  

                “Welcome back.” The wolf was wearing a dazzling grin, his eyes glistening with relief.

                “What happened?” Derek was still holding onto one of the teen’s hands, and he pressed a firm kiss to Stiles’ knuckles.

                “You passed out. And Melissa thinks the exhaustion caught up with you afterwards. You’ve been asleep for about seven hours.”

                “Jesus,” Stiles breathed, trying to sit up, but Derek placed a palm in the middle of his chest and pressed him back down into the mattress. Stiles huffed, but Derek’s following smirk was reassuring.

                “Easy,” the wolf cooed.

                “Where is everyone?”

                “They’ve commandeered our living room. John and Melissa are in the kitchen. They’ve been checking in on you every hour. Melissa finally pulled your dad away from your side about twenty minutes ago.”

                “I can feel it,” Stiles murmured, still groggy. “I can feel this pull inside of me. To Scott. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

                “A very good sign, baby.” Derek took Stiles’ bandaged wrist and propped it in his lap. He pried away the medical tape and gauze to reveal the skin underneath.  

                A red crescent, the gory imprint of Scott’s top set of teeth, stained the bandage, but Stiles’ wrist was flawless. No gouge marks or fresh blood or any sign that his friend had snacked on him mere hours ago.

                Stiles exhaled and laughed at the same time, tears sliding out of the corners of his eyes. It was the final confirmation. Derek wouldn’t stop smiling either, and Stiles tugged him down to his mouth by a handful of his hair.

                “I need to go tell your dad,” Derek mumbled against his lips, placing another kiss on them afterwards like he couldn’t help it.

                “Is everyone in the living room staring at us like creeps?”

                “Yes.”

                Derek rushed off to the kitchen and was instantly replaced by Scott, who sat down on the side of the bed. Now that his boyfriend was gone, Stiles pushed himself up to lean against the wall. He didn’t feel weak; in fact, he felt the opposite.

                “How do you feel?”

                “Not that much different,” Stiles confessed, although if he concentrated hard enough, he could hear Derek telling Melissa and his father the news in the kitchen.

                “Well, you’re just a newborn,” Scott beamed, “Give it a few more hours for all of your senses to adjust.” His Alpha gripped his hand and gave it an amiable squeeze.

                Stiles couldn’t exactly explain the sensation, but it was like an emotional shiver had just run through the group. And he could _feel_ it. The rest of pack had followed Scott over to the bed, and they were all glancing at one another now. The banshee’s mouth was parted in wonderment, and tears were collecting in his father’s eyes.  

                “What?” Stiles asked hurriedly, afraid he had grown wolf ears or something. He patted through his hair just to make sure.

                “Your eyes,” Lydia stated, “They’re glowing.”

                Stiles looked back to Scott to find his Alpha’s glimmering a bright crimson. “What color are mine?”

                His seven pack members had filled in along the bottom and sides of the bed, making Stiles feel uncomfortably on display.  

                “Golden yellow. Looks like we have a healthy, bouncing baby beta,” Melissa remarked, her tone pleased.

                Stiles couldn’t feel any physical difference when his eyes flashed. It would take time and practice to learn to control them. He figured they were still glowing from his Alpha’s touch and proximity, so he flicked his eyes to Derek’s.

                The elder beta’s eyes blazed blue. Two mates officially acknowledging one another for the first time.  


End file.
